The Poison Tree
by BittersweetWhispers1
Summary: Someone makes an attempt on Hermione's life and Harry takes on the case. He turns to Lucius Malfoy for help, but a Malfoy under the Ministry's thumb is still a dangerous man. And just what are his intentions towards Hermione?
1. The Trial of Lucius Malfoy

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment. So enjoy!

.

**The Poison Tree**

**.**

**Chapter 1 - The Trial of Lucius Malfoy**

**.**

She threw a filled vase at him when he told her. Harry scarcely dodged the crystal that flew by his head, letting it shatter against the wall behind him and leaving broken roses and water trailing down the wall. "How could you do this to me, Harry?" Hermione shrieked at him. "How could you?"

He held out his hands in earnest supplication. "Hermione, I'm not doing this to you, at all. I'm doing it for them. Narcissa Malfoy saved my life and Lucius Malfoy didn't fight at Hogwarts."

"Only because he had no wand!" she snapped back. "And do you really think she would have helped you if she thought they'd come out on top in all of this?"

"It doesn't matter. She did. She saved my life. I owe her my testimony to that at the very least."

"Saved your life?" she asked incredulously. "They were ready to hand you over to Voldemort!" She was talking about the Manor again. Her mind always seemed to go back there when the Malfoys were brought up.

"But they didn't. Snape used to work for Voldemort, but he changed. "

"The Malfoys are not Snape! Snape betrayed Voldemort to save the wizarding world. The Malfoys betrayed him to save themselves. They don't love anything!"

"They loved their son. Enough to betray Voldemort. He would have killed them for what they did. That counts for something to me." He looked away when he said it, more to himself than to her.

That counted for everything to Harry, she thought bitterly. But Narcissa was not Lily Potter, sacrificing her life for the love of her son. The Malfoys had deliberately put Draco in harm's way by choosing to serve a madman, by having him serve that madman in turn. All they had done was attempt to correct a problem they had caused in the first place. But was that really so different from what James and Lily had done? Choosing to join the Order and fight against Voldemort while they had a baby to protect?

"Fine then!" she snapped. "Tell them to let her off and throw the bastard in Azkaban where he belongs!"

"He says he regrets—"

"Oh, he'll say anything right now!" she said, her voice rising in exasperation. "And as soon as he's out he'll go right back to trying to pass his 'Keep the Mudbloods Out' laws!"

"Hermione, you're being unreasonable."

"You weren't tortured on his drawing room floor!" He was silent after that, watching her with a mixture of hurt and disappointment in his eyes. The sound of her laboured breathing hitching with tears was loud between them. That's what it all came down to in the end. It was easy for Harry to forget. He hadn't been laid out before them, watching their greedy nasty faces above her, as she writhed on the floor, Bella screaming crucio after crucio at her. Just because they hadn't cast it didn't make them any less guilty. She still woke screaming at night, that memory, that pain, forever seared into her being, creeping and climbing into every crevice of her mind when she least expected it. Her one consolation had been the thought of seeing the Malfoys sent to Azkaban for their crimes. And to have one of her best friends testify on their behalf... He should have been testifying against them, she thought bitterly, telling the Wizengamot of the torture she suffered at their hands, at how they had planned to hand them over to Voldemort. Her stomach twisted in response at his betrayal.

"I've asked them to reserve a seat for you at the trial," Harry said quietly. "I'll understand if you don't want to come."

Hermione turned away from him, biting back the tears that were springing to her eyes. "Get out, Harry. Just get out."

She didn't see him leave, but heard the quiet click of the door that told her he was gone. And then she hugged herself tightly and cried.

* * *

Hermione went to the trial. Her seat wasn't in the back as she'd hoped. Instead, it gave her a full view of the Malfoys and Harry sitting directly behind them. He offered her a weak smile as she sat down. She didn't return it.

Lucius Malfoy sat with his hands clasped in his lap and eyes downcast, looking every bit the chastised and remorseful party. His wife huddled close to his side, long blonde hair loose and sliding gracefully over her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall. Her face was the very picture of beauty and vulnerability. Well, that was a good ploy, Hermione thought bitterly. Use the beautiful wife to gain sympathy. Draco sat behind them, beside Harry. The fear and anxiety on his face was evident. It was real. It was probably the only real emotion among the three of them. She felt a twinge of pity for him.

The new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, cleared his throat loudly, indicating that the trial was about to begin. "Step forward, Mr Malfoy." His deep voice boomed around the stone room.

Malfoy rose slowly from his chair, his hand lingering in his wife's for the last possible moment, before he made his way to the center of the room. The luxurious, embroidered robes he normally wore had been replaced by a noticeably cheaper, woollen version. His hands were bare, the whiteness in stark contrast to the black of his robes. They trembled visibly.

"The trial of the Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, of the Wiltshire Malfoys," Shacklebolt said, and the court scribe began taking notes. "On the twenty-first day of July, 1998, for offences of consorting with a dark wizard, murder of Muggles and Muggle-borns, and acts of dark wizardry, including casting Unforgivable Curses.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; John Dawlish, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Amanda Puckle, Court Scribe; Witness for the Defence... Harry James Potter," Shacklebolt finished slowly, as if amazed by his own words. He took a long hard look at Harry before turning back to Malfoy. "State your case, Mr Malfoy."

She could see him clearly now, his face pale and thin, his fine features more pronounced. His eyes were anxious and pleading, lips a thin, trembling line on his face. The expression was so at odds with the man she knew, she could scarcely believe they were the same person. "Lords and ladies of the Wizengamot," Malfoy began, "I stand here before you humbled and beaten by circumstance and fate..."

And his voice brought her back, back to that _searing_ _pain that tore through her like fire, tearing skin from muscle, muscle from bone, crushing bones to dust, suffocating with unbearable agony…_

She shut her eyes, held her breath, and dug her nails into the palms of her hands until that burning memory receded back into its veiled corners.

He was still speaking.

"I stand before you as a father, a husband,"—at this he turned to look at his wife and son—"an invested member of this community, much like yourselves. A man led astray by temptation, by love for his people. I... " He paused. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Dramatic effect? "I am deeply remorseful for my transgressions against my peers. In my misguided support of a madman, I put my family at risk and have caused great harm to this community. My only ambition now is to make amends, to rebuild the wizarding world that we all know and love, to live peacefully with my family."

She resisted the urge to snort. No one could possibly be stupid enough to believe this.

"But know that I am as much victim as perpetrator." And Malfoy stood there now insisting that Voldemort had threatened his family, that he had become a prisoner in his own home, had only followed along in the desperate hope that Voldemort would spare his wife and child, all the while planning to bring about his downfall. If she hadn't seen the cold cruelty in his eyes when he had threatened them in the Department of Mysteries or the callousness he had treated her with when she'd been a prisoner in his home, she might have believed him too. But she had seen his true face, and knew this was just a well-scripted act. It took all her willpower to stay seated rather than leap to her feat and declare him for the liar that he was.

"You have been accused of casting Unforgivable Curses," Shacklebolt said when Malfoy had finished his statement. "How do you answer these charges?"

Malfoy took a breath, then looked directly at Shacklebolt, cool self-assurance written clearly in his eyes. "I have never cast an Unforgivable Curse, Minister. Had I still my wand, I am confident you would have discovered this for yourself. Since I was released from Azkaban by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I was under house arrest and without a wand. Clearly, you must see that I had neither opportunity nor incentive to commit any crimes."

And here was the problem; Lucius Malfoy no longer had a wand to provide evidence. Priori Incantatem was always performed when a wizard was accused of a crime, and especially so when the crime was casting Unforgivable Curses. It was the strongest evidence one could have. It was virtually unheard of to convict a wizard when there was no wand. When Voldemort had destroyed Lucius Malfoy's wand, he had destroyed all evidence of Malfoy's crimes. He had also, inadvertently, given credibility to his story that he was Voldemort's prisoner rather than an accomplice.

In fact, Hermione half believed him. She didn't doubt he could have managed to perform whatever deeds Voldemort required without using Unforgiveable Curses. That was what sycophants were for. She had heard from her own sources that his previous incarceration in Azkaban had been on shaky grounds, and had only been accomplished out of the rampant fear of Voldemort and anyone associated with him.

"Mr Potter, is there anything you wish to add to Mr Malfoy's defence?" Shacklebolt asked, looking at Harry.

Harry stood and moved to take his place beside Malfoy. "Yes, Minister Shacklebolt. I know this may seem strange to you, but I have reason to defend the Malfoys because of the role they played in the final battle and the role they have played since."

Hermione's heart sank. He was really going to do it. No mention of her or what she had suffered, only how they had helped him to defeat Voldemort, as if the one action cancelled out the other.

"I saw the abuse Mr Malfoy suffered at Voldemort's hands. I heard him pleading to search for his son. He was truly not working for Voldemort when the Battle of Hogwart's began. To Mrs Malfoy, I owe my life. Her deception of Voldemort allowed me to escape and finally defeat him. That battle would have been very different if not for her intervention. I am forever in her debt."

"And you request leniency on Mr Malfoy's behalf?"

"Yes, Minister. As you know, Mr Malfoy has been extremely helpful and cooperative in the investigations of Death Eater activities. I believe he is truly reformed and sincere in his desire to assist the wizarding world in recovering from this tragedy. He has also taken a leadership role in setting an example for other pureblood families to follow. "

So that was it. He had found the right currency to buy favour with Harry. But she was damned if she was going to believe a word of it.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. I am well aware of Mr Malfoy's actions since that fateful day. Please return to your seats. We will take a recess to discuss the evidence and your statements."

Harry returned to his seat, but Malfoy lingered for a moment. And then he turned to her, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and gave a barely perceptible nod in her direction.

She felt her face grow hot with indignation or fear—she couldn't tell which. Her hands were trembling, gripping and ungripping the fabric of her robes in distress. She rose from her seat and nearly ran from the courtroom. Her heart was beating madly by the time she stopped at the end of an empty hallway. How was he able to affect her that way with just a glance? Humiliation rose like bile in her throat. She leaned heavily against the wall, closed her eyes, willing her breaths to calm. She needed to get this under control, to destroy any power he had over her.

"Miss Granger?"

Blood turned to ice in her veins. She clutched at the wall to steady herself, and turned slowly to meet his gaze.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind her, standing regally despite his inexpensive garb. There was the glint of a smile in his eyes.

"Miss Granger, I couldn't help but notice your discomfort." That perpetual fluttering of her heart had returned. She tried to control her face, refused to give away her fear to him. Behind him, she noticed an Auror standing a few feet away. But it wasn't as if he could do anything to her here, could he?

"I truly hope I am not the cause of it," he continued.

You bloody well know you are! she screamed silently. Outwardly, she simply glared. He stepped forward, and she stepped back in response.

"Please, allow me to make amends." His voice had lost the humbled and pleading tone he had used in the courtroom. Instead it had returned to that haughty arrogant drawl that was so familiar, that had featured in her dreams night after night. Before she could speak a word, he had snatched up her hand in his. It was surprisingly warm, and only then did she notice that every inch of her skin had gone cold.

"I am deeply grieved for the role that I played in your suffering." She moved to pull her hand from his, but his grip was iron. "I beg you forgive my most reprehensible actions and accept my sincere apologies."

"Let go," she hissed at him, but he held tighter still.

"I assure you I am a reformed man. Now," he murmured, his eyes avoiding hers, "the very thought of that day... haunts my dreams." And suddenly his gaze was fixed onto her with dark intensity. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles. His lips were moist and warm against her skin, his breath ghosting over her flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He was so close she could smell him.

_His hands twisting in her hair, lifting her head. She was breathing in the scent of him, could feel the warmth of his body above her. Her eyes, half-focussed, looked up into icy grey hatred. He turned away. That deep, clipped voice above. "She's still conscious."_

Hermione finally ripped her hand from his grasp. "Don't touch me!" It was louder than she had meant it to be, and she heard her voice echo through the hallway.

"Of course. Forgive me, dear girl." The last words lingered on his tongue. "I am being presumptuous." He was smiling at her now, his gaze devouring her.

She knew she was trembling visibly, that her eyes were screaming every terrified emotion at him that she had vowed not to give him. And she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Malfoy bowed, his eyes never leaving her face, and turned to go.

"Don't think for a moment," she said to his back, steadying her voice with steely determination, "that I believe one word of your false apologies. You may have weaseled your way into Harry's good graces, but I know who you really are."

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "I truly hope so, Miss Granger." And then he was gone in a rustle of sweeping robes.

Hermione sank to the floor, her shoulders shaking with unshed tears. She didn't dare go back into the courtroom.

* * *

**A/N:** Feedback would be greatly appreciated. :)


	2. The Comfort of Familiarity

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 2 – The Comfort of Familiarity**

**.**

Nightmares clawed at her mind that night, drawing her back into the dark corners of her memory. She was in Malfoy Manor, writhing on the floor beneath Bellatrix's wand, _acid in her veins, pouring from every orifice, her eyes, her ears, her mouth, bleeding molten lava, skin sliced into ribbons, carved open before him..._ Hermione awoke screaming, fighting her sheets until she realised she was back in the safety of her own room. Her skin was tingling, every nerve alive as if they could still remember the sensation, as if it had only been yesterday. It had been months and yet her body remembered with vivid precision what her brain tried to forget. She put her head in her hands and tried to shake the memory from her mind. The echo of her screams was still ringing in her ears.

She had been careful to place a silencing spell on the room, so her cries didn't alarm her parents. They'd already been upset when she had finally removed the memory charm and explained why it had been necessary to send them away. Her mother had broken into tears and her father had yelled at her for putting her own life in danger. The thought that their daughter had been tortured and was still suffering the after-effects of that torture would have been too much for them.

Three days later, Harry arrived at her office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department. Hermione had been offered the position shortly after the war and now worked under the new head of the department, Charlie Weasley. She scarcely looked up as Harry approached.

"He's been set free," he told her. She didn't need to ask who he meant. "They imposed a heavy fine," he added, as if this made all the difference.

"I don't care," Hermione muttered bitterly. "Tell me when they send him back to Azkaban. That's the only news I care to hear about."

"You've got to move on, Hermione."

She glared at him in response.

Her bad mood lasted the rest of the morning and she finally decided to visit Ron during her lunch, before she snapped off some poor underling's head.

They hadn't seen a great deal of each other since the war. The passion that held them together then seemed to evaporate once the threat of danger had passed. She knew he still loved her, but right now his place was with his family, helping them to deal with the loss of his brother. It was admirable that he had stepped up to the role. Ron had shown a lot more maturity and sensitivity than she had ever thought him capable of. The Ministry had offered him a position as an Auror alongside Harry. They were desperate for wizards they could trust, even waiving the required NEWTs to rebuild their ranks. It was Ron's dream and it was finally within reach. But he had turned it down for his family. "There will be time enough for that later," he'd said, and she'd glowed with pride. He was currently working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George, filling the empty spot Fred had left behind. It was good for him; it kept him busy, helped him keep an eye on George who was often depressed, and the atmosphere seemed to help his mood.

Hermione entered the store now, singing out a cheerful "Hello!" to George who greeted her at the door.

"Ron's upstairs," he told her. "Trying out some new products."

"Is that a warning to stay out?" she laughed. He winked at her as she ascended the stairs.

She found Ron in the "Product Testing" room, his ginger-coloured head bent over what appeared to be regular cooking beans. "Hi, Ron." She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "What are you going to do with those?" No sooner had she said this, then the beans jumped up, sprouted arms and legs, and began to sing and dance. "They're so cute!"

Ron grinned. "My idea. Thought it might be cheer up my mum."

"How's she doing?"

Ron sighed. "Not so good. She's just... sad. She keeps crying whenever she looks at George. It got so bad, he moved out last week."

"It'll get better. She just needs time to adjust."

"How about you? I heard about Malfoy's trial from Harry. He said you were really upset."

She took a few steps away from him to hide her face. "It's just... so unfair. He serves Voldemort, he tortures me, and then he gets off with a slap on the wrist."

"But I thought you said it was Bellatrix who—"

"They were all there, Ron!" she snapped, harsher than she meant to. He backed off instantly and she felt guilty.

"Hermione, did he—did he do something else we don't know about?"

"No, Ron. I told you everything. I just don't see why he should get a break when he's just as bad as the rest of them." She had planned to tell him what had happened during the trial, but now it seemed silly. What was she going to complain about? That he'd apologised and kissed her hand? Even she had to admit it sounded ridiculous.

"Are you still having those nightmares?"

Hermione coloured slightly. The first few nights after the final battle she had stayed at the Burrow and woken up screaming from nightmares. Ron had been sympathetic at first, but she could tell it was grating on his nerves. He wanted it to stop, but there wasn't anything he could do to help. It was frustrating for both of them. She'd promptly moved back home at the end of the week. "No," she lied. "Haven't had one since."

Ron brightened at her words. "That's good. Maybe you could come stay at the Burrow sometime. Mum really misses having you around."

Her brow furrowed, but she offered him a sincere smile. "Sure. It'd be just like old times." She rewarded him with another kiss, a softer, sweeter one on his lips. He grinned stupidly, and that familiar, idiosyncratic expression, lightened her spirit and comforted her all at the same time. That expression suddenly turned to alarm when the beans started jumping off the table and scurrying around the room at high-speed. Ron made a mad dash to grab them up.

"Anyway, I have a few errands to run," Hermione said as she watched him run after the beans. "Meet me after work? I was thinking we could try that new Italian restaurant that opened up down the street from my house."

"Sure! Anything!" he called back, making a grab for one bean that was making its way towards the window. "I'll pick you up at seven at your—damn it! Hold still!"

She sighed and left the room.

Diagon Alley was bustling with activity. It was a welcome change from the weeks before. Life in the wizarding world had quickly returned to normal, people going about their day as if the war had never happened. It was an attractive notion; everyone wanted to forget the terror and unpredictability, to indulge in the comfort of familiarity. She made a stop by Gringott's and managed to find a few potion ingredients she needed to restock her personal stash. Once done, she visited Madam Malkin's to look for a new robe. She predicted a few more dates with Ron in her future, and a new set of robes would definitely come in handy. She'd just pulled several robes in different shades of pale yellow, periwinkle blue, and lavender, when she looked up to see a familiar face.

"Hello, Granger."

"Pansy Parkinson."

There was an awkward silence. Neither girl had ever liked the other, but there was a grudging respect and mutual understanding of a classmate who had also survived a war. It was a strange thing to share with someone, who, under any other circumstances, she could never stand to be in the same room with. She mused silently that it was funny how their mutual dislike and nasty comments over the years seemed petty and insignificant now.

"How are you?" Hermione offered weakly.

"Well, good... considering." She looked different, Hermione noted. The haughty sneer was gone from her face. It was like she had both grown up and had an enormous burden lifted from her shoulders. Pansy gave an awkward laugh and brushed a lock of dark hair from her face. Hermione caught the glint of light on her finger.

"You're engaged?"

"Yeah," Pansy replied with a furious blush and a wide grin. "To Theodore Nott. We dated all seventh year. He asked me after the war." She displayed the brilliant diamond ring on her left hand.

"That's great," Hermione returned kindly. She had heard the Parkinsons hadn't survived the battle. Being from a pure-blood family that had sided with Voldemort, Pansy was in a precarious position until someone took her in.

"Did you and Weasley...?"

"No, no," Hermione insisted quickly. "We didn't have time for anything like that."

"Oh," she said, and they fell back into awkward silence. "Go with the blue," she picked up suddenly. "You look great in that colour." She smiled and made her way out the door.

Hermione purchased the blue robe, deciding she liked the cut and how if flattered her skin (and hoped Ron would too), and set off for home. She had just stepped outside when she heard a high-pitched scream. Pansy and Theodore Nott were standing down the street from her, hand in hand. Pumpkin juice was dripping down Pansy's face. There was a scream of "Death Eater slut!" but she couldn't place where it had come from. Nott had drawn his wand and was looking around wildly, but the crowd around him just passed by as if they hadn't seen anything unusual. He wrapped an arm protectively around Pansy's shoulder before disapparating.

Everything certainly looked the same, but it was obvious to the entire wizarding world that it never would be again.

* * *

Ron really needed to make a bigger move, Hermione thought irritably, as she applied a large amount of Sleak-Eazy to her hair. She checked the clock again. Twenty minutes to seven. There was plenty of time.

They had officially started dating after the war, however, very little had actually changed. Ron was often so distracted by everything around him, he hardly had time to pay attention to her. Every now and then she asked him out on a date (it grated on her romantic sensibilities that she still had to), but he never picked up on her hints and did the same. It would be nice, just once in a while, she thought, if he could treat her like a girl—open the door, pull out her chair, bring her flowers, _ask her out_. It often felt like they were just two friends spending time together rather than a couple starting out on a relationship.

She added some more mascara to her eyelashes. Ron liked pretty girls and she always tried to look her best for him on their dates. She _was_ pretty, she told herself. Ron just never seemed to notice it. She stopped abruptly when something caught her eye.

A black-robed wizard stood behind her in the mirror. Instinct directed her hand. She snatched her wand from the vanity and cried "_Protego!_" before the intruder could move. A streak of red deflected and dissipated harmlessly in the air as she leapt from the chair and threw herself behind the bed. She hadn't heard the spell, but the wallpaper behind her was suddenly covered in deep slashes. She kept her head down and pointed her wand over the bed. "S_tupefy!_"

There was thump as if something had hit the ground.

And then silence.

She rose slowly from her position on the ground. And felt herself lifted off her feet and in the air. She was going up, up, up... Her back slammed against the ceiling, knocking the air from her lungs, and then she was falling, hitting the ground with more force than gravity alone could provide. She gasped "_Expelliarmus!_" with what little breath she had, before scrambling to her feet. Her attacker was busy casting a protection spell as she dashed around the door and ran into the hallway, heart pounding in her ears. She expected him to follow and was ready. The moment his black robe came into sight, she yelled "_Stupefy!_" and the spell connected. He flew back into the room and out of sight.

Hermione paused to think. She wasn't sure how hard she had hit him. He might be down for a few seconds or a few minutes. She advanced slowly, wand held out in front, peered around the door… and dropped to the floor as a streak of red flew over her head.

"_Expelliarmus!_" She watched as he quickly deflected her spell. And followed it up with "_Stupefy!_" She was sure her attacker was male now. The black-gloved hands extending from the robe were too large to be female and his movements seemed decidedly masculine. His face was still deeply hidden by the hood of his cloak. She wanted to see him. Whether he killed her or she got out of this alive, she wanted to see him.

She slipped back behind the door and slammed it shut just as she heard his spell connect with the wood. It splintered through to the other side. Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of this. He hadn't cast a killing spell yet—she hadn't seen the tell-tale green light of the Avada Kedavra curse. So he was just trying to injure her, to take her down. For what purpose? Kidnapping? Torture? He was a little late to the party, she thought wryly. The war had been over for months.

Hermione reached up to pull open the door again, when it was blasted off its hinges. She pulled back, giving herself a moment to cradle her injured hand against her waist. She regained her nerve, and cast _Stupefy_ again. The same spell shot back at her, throwing her back towards the stairs. Momentum carried her through and she rolled down the first few steps, landing midway on the staircase on her back. She raised her wand to defend herself, but her attacker was faster. His spell exploded with pain on her skin and she screamed. Blood was clouding her vision, her hands, her face were on fire, but her wand hand found its own direction. "_Impedimenta_," she whispered.

He was blasted off her, but she didn't know where. She tried to pull herself down the stairs on her hands. Her hands – they were bleeding from deep slashes. She had thought he'd cast the Cruciatus curse, but this was something else. She tried to rise to her feet as she reached the bottom, her body screaming its protests.

Suddenly, her mind snapped alert. She could hear the rustle of robes coming down the stairs. The words were on her lips before she had even thought them. "_Expelliarmus!_"

She'd hit him that time, she knew. She heard him cry out, something clattered on the floor, and then the distinct sound of a large body hitting the wall. She turned to where she'd heard his wand fall to the ground before he could reach it. Her legs suddenly gave out beneath her and she was crawling on the ground, scrambling forward on her hands and knees. A few more feet. She couldn't see, but she could feel it.

The front door swung open. Ron was standing in the doorway, a look of horror on his face as he looked down at her. "Hermione!"

There was a loud crack behind her.

"Hermione!" She couldn't see him through her tears. "Hermione!"

"Right behind me," she yelled. "Stop him, stop—"

"He's gone!" he said, and she felt his arms encircle her. "Disapparated."

Disapparated? But she disarmed him, didn't she? "The wand, his wand, I—"

"Oh Merlin, Hermione, you're bleeding!" He pulled out his wand and she felt cooling healing spells touch her skin. "It's not working! Why's it not working? Hermione, tell me what to do!"

But she couldn't tell him what to do. She didn't even know what had hit her. She grit her teeth, feeling the sting of her wounds as they continued to bleed out. "St Mungo's, Ron," she gasped. "I need a healer. And Harry. Get Harry."

He held her close, his arms trembling around her, and Disapparated them away.


	3. In the Serpent's Lair

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 3 - In the Serpent's Lair**

**.**

Hermione awoke to a wide expanse of white ceiling, white walls, and white bedsheets. Pure. White. Silent. The thought was a comfort to her tired brain that slowly tried to pull itself into full consciouness. The early morning sun cast pale rays of light into the room. They shone their way through the filter of thin curtains, criss-crossing the room, the sheets, and catching tiny dust particles in their columns as they drifted down in slow motion. Her mind slowly reeled into focus.

Her body was aching, from exhaustion and something else she couldn't quite place. She vaguely recalled being attacked in her home last night and Ron Apparating her to St. Mungo's. The Apparition had left her dazed, along with the loss of blood, and she assumed she had either passed out at some point or someone had sedated her.

"Ron?"

There was a rustle of fabric from across the room and footsteps as if someone was walking towards her. Harry's messy black hair and green eyes entered her vision.

"Harry? Where's Ron?"

He sat down on the edge of her bed and gently took her hand. "He went home a little while ago to get some sleep. He's been here all night."

"Oh," she said simply.

"How are you feeling?"

She closed her eyes. "Horrid."

"It'll pass. You're still healing."

"You're wearing your Auror robes. Does that mean you're here to investigate the attack?"

"I'm here as your friend, Hermione," he said sternly. "But I'm also here to investigate the attack. If that's okay with you," he added with a smile.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'd prefer it that way." She pushed herself up into a sitting position so she could face him properly. She reached up to brush away a lock of hair from her face, and stopped when her palm touched her cheek. Gingerly, her fingers drew along the skin of her cheek, feeling the rumpled flesh beneath them. "Harry." Her voice was tiny and weak. "Bring me a mirror."

"Hermione, don't," he said quickly. "It's fine. They weren't able to—"

"Harry Potter, I asked you for a mirror," she snapped.

He looked at her with a pleading gaze. Then, hesitantly, he went to retrieve a handheld mirror from the bathroom and slowly handed it to her. "I just want you to know that we're going to find a way—"

She snatched it from his hand and held it up before her face.

A long cut started from the top of her nose and extended along her right cheek. A smaller one reached from her chin to just below her lower lip. They had been stitched together by Muggle means and the ridges of the cuts were blackened. The skin was numb. She gasped, her voice hitching on disgust and horror that had risen in her throat. "Harry—"

"Don't, don't cry, Hermione, it's okay. We'll find a way to fix it."

But sharp tears were already streaming down her cheeks and the sight of her own face in the mirror sent her into deep sobs. "Ron—Ron will think—he'll think—"

"Ron won't care! He loves you."

She shook her head, tears falling freely from her eyes, leaving wet spots on the sheets on her lap.

"Hermione!" Harry gathered her up in his arms, pressing her face against his shoulder. "It's not that bad," he soothed helplessly. "We'll fix it."

"It's ugly!" she cried against him, sobs shaking her tiny frame. She knew with deep certainty, just knew, that if the healers at St. Mungo's could have fixed it they would have done so already. But dark magic was often harder to counteract. She recalled George's ear—how Snape had hexed it off. They had never been able to replace it. Her heart sank and her cries began in earnest.

She told herself this was silly. That it was pure vanity to cry over such a superficial injury, that she was lucky to have escaped with her life, that it could have been much worse.

But there was something so horribly personal about a hideous wound on her face.

She cried into Harry's shoulder for long minutes while he patiently held her. And for that moment she was grateful that Ron wasn't there. There was a freedom she had with Harry that she didn't have with Ron. Harry would never care what she looked like and she didn't feel the need to be beautiful or composed with him. There was no risk of losing anything. She dreaded the moment when she would have to face Ron again.

"Hermione, I need to ask you about the attack."

"No," she whispered into his shoulder.

"Please? Let's just get this over with. There are a bunch of people waiting to see you." He realised this was the wrong thing to say when her sobs started anew. "But you don't have to see them if you don't want to!" he added quickly.

"Oh, Harry." He paused at the sound of her voice. There was a hint of laughter in her tone. "You're hopeless," she finished.

"Just start by telling me what happened," he murmured over her head. He summoned a Quick Quotes Quill and a notepad.

"I was preparing for my date with Ron," she said, struggling to regain control of her emotions. "And then I noticed him behind me. I never heard him Apparate in." She gasped as she finished her words and pulled back to face him. "Oh Harry, I'm so stupid! I took down the protective wards on the house after the war! I need to put them back! Oh Merlin! What if he returns? My mum and my dad are there! They need to know—"

"Hermione, it's okay," Harry cut her off before she could work herself into an emotional maelstrom. "Ginny's gone to tell them. And I've asked an Auror to ward your house against any intruders. Your parents are safe. It's just you we need to worry about."

She took a breath and let the words sink in. They were safe. "I cast a protection spell before he could move. We fought. He-he never tried to kill me, Harry. Not with magic. I'm not sure why. The spells he cast were nasty enough." She looked down at her arms, lying bandaged on the sheet in front of her. "I disarmed him, but he could still Apparate."

"He still had his wand," Harry explained and when her eyes begged for more information, he relented. "It wasn't the wand you disarmed him of. It was a dagger. I'm having it investigated now for its origins. We're hoping it'll give us a lead. But, go on."

"There's nothing else to say, really."

"You're sure it was a man?"

"He was tall. Hands were too large to be a woman. And I heard him scream when one of my spells hit him. The voice sounded very male. I'm sorry, Harry. I never saw his face."

"No, that's good. It helps. We're making your case a priority, so hopefully this'll be over soon."

"Thank you, Harry. Before you go... just tell them to give me a few minutes before the others come in?"

He nodded and gave her a final hug before leaving the room.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of concerned well-wishers. Molly Weasley hugged her and cried, telling her that she was still as beautiful as she ever was. Arthur offered his silent support, and let his wife do all the talking. Her parents were quiet in their anger and concern. Her father muttered about how this magic business had done nothing but endanger her life again and again, while her mother questioned if she seriously wanted to continue living in the wizarding world. Ginny provided her with cheerful companionship, tactfully avoiding the topic of her wounds and bringing a smile to her face with her latest antics. It wasn't long before she was on one of her most frequent topics; Harry's absurdly long hours with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"I never see him!" she complained. "He comes back, he tells me he loves me... and then I never see him. Except last night. To tell me you were attacked. Is that what it's going to take now?" Ginny plopped down in the chair next to her bed.

"It's just for now, Ginny. He told me they'd cut down his hours soon."

"As if that would make a difference! He doesn't need to work as much as he does—he chooses it! Bloody Lucius Malfoy sees my boyfriend more than I do!"

Hermione visibly flinched at the name and Ginny's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I know how you feel about him. I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay, Ginny, really. I need to get over it. Fear of the name, you know..."

"But that was horrible of me. Stupid Weasley trait, you know," she added with an awkward smile.

"Yes, I'm quite used to it with Ron, except he doesn't seem to realise it's a bad thing."

"My brother is too thick-headed to realise people have feelings. I'm surprised you put up with him."

"Ron can be sweet... at times," Hermione said.

"Do you want him to come?" Trust Ginny to cut to the heart of the matter.

Hermione bit her lip then shook her head slowly. "I can't tell him to stay away, but I—I just don't want him to see me like this." Tears began to well up in her eyes again.

"I'm sorry—"

"No, it's not you—it's just... this!" She gestured at her face in exasperation.

"Ron won't care," Ginny said.

"I know, I keep hearing."

"But you don't believe it."

Hermione shook her head. "I want to, but... it's Ron, you know. He likes pretty girls," she added quietly more to herself than to Ginny.

"Which you are and which he can still see," Ginny said firmly. She wisely changed the topic to Padma Patil's new boyfriend, Glen Wilkinson, whom she had seen in Blake's Enchanted Gems store. She had heard from Lucinda Maltby that he had mistakenly kissed the wrong twin, and was now desperately trying to make up for his error.

Hermione listened to her cheerful prattle for the next hour, allowing herself to be distracted. Ginny left a few hours later and she entertained herself with books and a long note from Charlie, letting her know everything she had missed at work.

When Ron returned later that night, she pretended to be asleep. She heard him creep quietly beside her bed and press a chaste kiss to her unblemished cheek. The footsteps thumped softly across the floor, and she waited for the distinct click of the door shutting behind him, before she finally released her tears into her pillow.

* * *

Harry came to see her again the next day as she was preparing to be released.

"I discussed your case with Lucius Malfoy," he said, getting straight to the point.

"Why—" she started angrily.

"Because he's our best source on dark wizards," he explained. "He's already provided a lot more insight than I could have gained myself."

"And you needed to tell me this? Really, Harry?"

"He wants to see you," he said and she could hear the note of trepidation in his voice.

"Tell him no," she said simply.

"It's important. He says he can—"

"And do you do everything he says? I thought he was working for you, not the other way around."

"We need his help. "

"I don't need anything from him!" she snapped. "You're the Auror. Get whatever you need out of him to solve the case. But don't... how can you ask me to go back there, Harry? You know what he did."

"I'll be there the entire time. You'll be safe."

"Harry, don't do this to me. Not again. Not now. I can't…"

He gripped her hands tightly. "I'm sorry. I don't want to cause you anymore pain. But this is—this is bigger than just us, Hermione. There are things I still have to tell you. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't… but it's you, so I think you should know."

There was something in his words that touched on her innate need to know, that hated being left in the unknown when it so clearly concerned her. She capitulated. "Fine. One meeting. Don't ask me again."

"Tomorrow morning, then. At Malfoy Manor. They won't accept him at the Ministry," he added quickly when he saw her outraged expression. "I'll pick you up from your house."

* * *

Harry arrived promptly at a quarter to nine to escort her and to relieve the Auror he had placed at her house overnight. Hermione wore her hair pulled back from her face and rolled into a loose bun, light curls escaping from their confinement to frame her face. The wounds on her face were clearly displayed for all to see. She noticed Harry's startled expression when he saw her. But she couldn't hide when meeting Lucius Malfoy. He would feed off of that and use it against her. Better to wear it proudly and show that it hadn't conquered her.

Harry Apparated them to the grounds outside Malfoy Manor. The gates swung open as if expecting them, like a silent guardian urging them on into the Underworld. She could feel her stomach begin to twist. She hadn't been here since...

Stop it, she told herself firmly. But her memories were already betraying her, retrieving things she had tried to forget, forcing them to the surface.

_The feel of pavement beneath her as the Snatchers dragged her up the walkway to Malfoy Manor._

She stepped forward with determination, but her muscles were growing stiff with fear.

_Greyback's breath on her face— foul, putrid air. _

Harry's hand reached for hers, held it tightly.

_"Wonder what you'd taste like, little girly, with your soft, sweet skin."_

They reached the front door and he rapped sharply with the knocker.

_"Maybe I'll get to find out."_

The door opened, revealing a tiny House-Elf. "Please to be coming in," the Elf said. "Master is waiting." They followed the House-Elf inside and Hermione took a deep breath. It was just as she remembered, and she wondered how she could have taken in so many details in such a short period of time, to have every aspect burned into her brain.

The walls rose gracefully on either side, extending twenty feet up. Above a crystal chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. The foyer was sumptuously decorated with elegant furniture; mahogany woods, damask fabrics, gilded portraits and magnificent carpets. It was like walking onto a movie set; surreal and almost unbelievable. And there was a strange cacophony of noise ringing throughout the house. It took her a moment to realise what it was; the portraits were screeching their disapproval at having a Mudblood in their home.

Harry pulling on her hand reminded her to move. As they crossed the foyer, she saw a blond young man descending the stairs to her right. Draco Malfoy. Of course she would find him here. That was just what she needed.

"Merlin, Granger. What happened to your face?"

Hermione blushed a dark shade in embarrassment. She felt the familiar pinprick of tears come to her eyes and pushed them back angrily. She was damned if she was going to cry in front of Draco Malfoy.

"Sod off, Ferret," Harry returned harshly. He kept walking forward, as if he didn't have the time to stop for the younger Malfoy. She glanced back quickly to see Draco glaring at them as they passed. He didn't take well to being dismissed.

The Elf finally stopped, rapping softly on the door to call out their presence. A cold, familiar drawl called "Enter," and they stepped inside.

They had entered Lucius Malfoy's study. Hermione noted saliently that it was considerably larger than any room in her house. Rows of books lined the walls, alongside some unique, obviously magical items. She dismissed them momentarily and turned her attention to the man who was standing imposingly by the fireplace, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. The last time she'd seen him, he had been wearing a poor set of robes and looking quite the worse for wear. All pretence of humility had disappeared now. His black robes were woven of the finest cloth—a light silk appropriate for summer. Fine embroidery crawled along the edges in a tantalising scroll of serpents. His white-blond hair was tied back neatly in a satin bow. She realised she'd half-expected him to look as if the war had aged him, had in some way changed him the way it had her. She had expected to see something human in him. All she found was patrician arrogance.

He was staring at her, the same way she was him, obviously taking in the damage to her face, the white bandages that covered her hands and arms. She held her chin high, returning his gaze with steady confidence. "Forgive me, Miss Granger," he said, breaking the silence. "Mr Potter had told me of your injuries, but I was not prepared for the sight." There was a mild note of unsettlement in his voice.

"Let me be frank, Mr Malfoy," Hermione cut in. "I have no interest in discussing anything with you. So if we can please get on with this?"

Malfoy didn't seem at all pleased with her, but he gestured towards the two chairs in front of his desk, and murmured, "Of course, Miss Granger. As you wish." He sat down behind the desk, looking every bit the lord of the manor, as he steepled his fingers and surveyed them with a bored expression. "Mr Potter, I suppose you should be the one to enlighten her." His gaze trailed to Hermione, a knowing smile on his lips.

Harry looked uncomfortable, she noted. "Enlighten me about what?"

"We're not certain yet, Hermione," Harry began, and she had the sinking feeling that she wouldn't like what he was about to tell her. "But we suspect that the man who attacked you may also be behind several murders."

"Murders?" Her skin felt cold. Malfoy had a Cheshire Cat smile on his face. "How many?"

"Two Muggle-borns that we know of in the last month. And more, before that. We just didn't realise it because—"

"They were Squibs," Malfoy finished. "Living in the Muggle world. As were the Muggle-borns. It seems our murderous friend is on a mission to remove any crossover between that world and our own."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Hermione asked, horrified by this revelation. "People need to know that their lives are in danger!"

"We can't!" Harry cut her off. "Think about it, Hermione. This soon after Voldemort's been defeated? There'd be widespread panic. People would think he had returned! And then there'd be even more fighting between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods than there is now. The wizarding world is just starting to rebuild itself; this is the last thing we need. We need to take care of this quickly and quietly."

"Harry, you can't put lives in danger like this and not give people a chance to defend themselves!"

"He must. And despite your objections, I'm sure you're intelligent enough to realise that, unless I've been seriously mislead in my appraisal of you," Malfoy said condescendingly.

"And why are you involved in this anyway?" she snapped, turning her attention to him. "I somehow doubt you're suddenly feeling altruistic because a few Squibs and Muggle-borns were murdered."

"Tut, tut, Miss Granger, you offend me. I've told you before that I am a reformed man."

"And I've told you before I don't believe it."

"I asked Malfoy to help me with the case," Harry interjected.

"Because, you see, Miss Granger, tracking down a Squib in the Muggle world is no easy feat," Malfoy said. "Squibs are a great embarrassment to our kind and so we do not keep public records of such things. Which means that the person who has done this has access to information that is highly guarded and extraordinarily difficult to find. Which means this person is a well-connected pure-blood wizard."

"Then shouldn't we suspect you?" Hermione shot back.

Harry answered her with an air of confidence. "He can't possibly have done it, Hermione. He can't leave the Manor without an Auror escort and his wand is checked every week. He couldn't use Dark Magic without the entire Magical Law Enforcement department knowing about it."

"Which you never let me forget, Mr Potter," Malfoy added bitterly.

"It's for your protection as well as ours."

"So we know this person is a pure-blood. What more do we need from you? Everyone knows your situation, Mr Malfoy. They're not likely to tell _you_ anything now, are they?"

The arrogant smile almost slipped from his face, but Malfoy recovered quickly. "Of course not. But, like our mysterious wizard, I also have intimate knowledge of the old pure-blood families, their secrets and their ways. Who better to guide to guide Mr Potter among the intricacies of pure-blood society? You won't find a better source."

"Or a more questionable one."

"Still so distrustful? Then trust that I am working in my own self-interest. Mr Potter has agreed to guard my wealth from Ministry interference in exchange for my assistance with his missions."

"That's believable, at least," Hermione admitted. "But it hardly makes you anymore trustworthy."

"He's been working for us since after the war, Hermione. Malfoy has already proven his loyalty and his usefulness to the Ministry."

She wanted to tell him that this wasn't Severus Snape, betraying his cause for the love of his life. Malfoy was just willing to sell out anyone and do anything to save his own skin. If nothing else, he was the consummate survivor.

"Now, Mr Potter," Malfoy began, interrupting her train of thought, "if you would be so kind as to give me a few moments of privacy with Miss Granger? There is something I should very much like to discuss with her."

"Absolutely not," Harry protested. "You know that wasn't part of the deal, Malfoy."

"I assure you I have no intention of harming Miss Granger, if I even had the ability to do so."

Harry looked to Hermione for approval. She shook her head.

Malfoy snorted in annoyance. "My wand, Potter." He placed it on the desk in front of him. "You may hold it until she leaves."

Hermione could scarcely hide the confusion on her face. Harry reached down, picked the wand up, and placed it in his pocket.

"There, Miss Granger. Now you are armed and I am not. Is this arrangement more to your liking?" She hesitated. "I assure you it will be worth your time."

"Fine," she said quietly. She nodded at Harry.

"If he tries anything—"

"I'll hex Malfoy and run," she finished. The man in question quirked an eyebrow at her. Harry smiled, giving her one last long look before leaving the room.

"What is it?" she demanded sharply when they were alone.

Malfoy rose slowly from his chair and walked around the desk to face her. She resisted the urge to stand up—doing so would have admitted that she felt intimidated. "Let me see your face," he said softly.

She backed away from the white hand that reached out to touch her, turning her face from him. "You can see it just fine from there."

"Don't be silly," he snapped. "I merely wish to examine your injuries to better understand the spell that caused them."

She did stand to meet him now, and crossed her arms over her chest defensively, meeting his gaze evenly. He took this as acquiescence and stepped forward once more. Her heart jumped in her throat as she willed herself not to flinch away from him this time. _It was too familiar, too close…_ She shoved that thought away before it could fully form itself.

He brushed back the curls that had fallen loose from her bun, and deftly tucked them behind her ears, his fingers lingering longer on the shell of her ear than necessary. He was deliberately trying to make her uncomfortable, she realised. Bastard. Fear was violently shoved back and replaced with anger, which she clutched fiercely with desperate hands. He was daring her to say something, to object to the way he touched her so he could then laugh at her audacity, tell her he had no interest in an ugly little thing like her. This was not a game she knew how to play and he was entirely aware of it.

He grasped her chin, turning her head to the side so that he had full view of the wound that was still so raw. His fingers gently brushed the ruptured flesh. Her skin prickled, remembering his touch and she hoped desperately that he didn't notice the slight tremble of her lips.

"This bothers you a great deal, does it not?" She didn't need to answer him, could hardly be sure what he was referring to. But the answer was clearly written in her eyes, in the confidence and calm that wasn't there, and, somehow, she knew he wouldn't miss that. "I would have hoped that one of your... intellectual calibre would not be given to such petty vanity."

"I'm not an unfeeling automaton, Mr Malfoy."

"Of course not, Miss Granger. You are absolutely correct. Clearly, you are a beautiful young woman. And any young woman would be horrified by the prospect of such an... unsightly wound upon her visage." She knew he was choosing his words carefully and that they were intended to strike deep.

"I could do something about that, if you wished it."

Ah, so that was it. Her face brightened despite her reservations.

"For a price," he drawled slowly.

"Harry said you were—"

"I am indebted to Mr Potter," he said, a large predator's grin spreading across his face. "I have no such obligations to you."

"No," she answered quickly and he frowned. "I don't need your help," she told him. She grabbed his hand and lifted it away from her face. He flinched, a subtle movement she just barely caught as he tried to cover it. "I'll find a way to deal with it on my own." Hermione pushed past him and made her way towards the door.

"My offer still stands, Miss Granger," he said, his voice halting her progress. "Whenever you're ready to accept it."

She wasn't sure what unnerved her more; the fact that she had seriously considered taking his offer or the confidence in his voice that said she would.


	4. From the Dark

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 4 – From the Dark**

**.**

Hermione felt as if she had just played into Lucius Malfoy's hands without ever making a move. It was unnerving, not least because it seemed this was a game he knew well and which she didn't know at all. She confided this to Harry, who didn't seem concerned. "He's powerless," he assured her. "It's all he can do to hold onto his wealth and whatever dignity he has left. Don't worry if he acts out. Living under the thumb of the Ministry isn't something that sits well with him." Somehow, she wasn't convinced that Malfoy was under anyone's thumb. He had recovered from the first war to regain his power. Would it really be beyond him to accomplish this a second time?

An owl delivered the Daily Prophet to her on Tuesday. There was a small story about her on the second page, saying that she had been involved in an incident with a Siren while on assignment for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and as the claws were poisonous, it would take a while for her injuries to heal.

A new Auror had been assigned for her protection—a young man named Wilkes, who had only been a year with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was certainly likeable enough, but didn't have much to say. She served him tea and he entertained himself in her living room by reading Quidditch magazines.

Harry came by to see her later that day, bringing the books on magical injuries and healing spells from the Ministry library that she had asked him for.

"I thought Malfoy would have helped you with this," he said, as he set them on her kitchen table.

"He offered. I refused."

"Why?"

She scrutinized him for a moment. It seemed he had already discussed this with Malfoy and expected her to accept his offer. Did he know that Malfoy had expected something in return? Probably not, she decided. "I won't be indebted to Mr Malfoy for any reason. I can do this on my own, Harry."

"But—"

"But what?" she snapped. Harry wisely backed off. He settled into the chair across from her.

"Hermione, we need to talk."

"About?" she asked, as she pulled the first book and began flipping through it. _Magical Maladies, Magical Mishaps…_

"About your safety. You're a very high profile Muggle-born. We know this person is unbalanced enough to be taking risks like this in the first place and he might make another attempt." She stopped flipping pages and looked up. "I think we should move you and your parents to a safer place."

"No, Harry. I can't. Not this soon after—"

"It's for your protection, Hermione. It's too risky for you to stay here. You can stay at my house at Grimmauld Place. You'll still be able to use the Floo Network to go to work. You'll just need to keep a low profile for a while until we find this guy."

"I won't go."

"Hermione—"

"I have enough protection here! There's the Auror and the wards…"

"Do you really want to take that risk?" She quieted and he went on. "Ask your parents to stay at a relative's house. There won't be any need for Memory Charms this time. I don't think he's after them."

She put her head in her hands and sighed. He was right, she knew. It was too dangerous to stay here, in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood, even with the additional wards. He was trying to make it as painless and comfortable as possible for her by offering up his own house. But it would also mean giving up the normal life she had just achieved after a year of living on the run.

"I'll think about, Harry."

She tenderly ran her hand over the long scar on her face. Maybe that normal life had never really been in reach.

* * *

Fate, it seemed, was intent on thwarting her efforts. Or the Ministry at the very least. Hemione had spent the entire day searching through the books for some mention of injuries caused by Dark Magic, but the closest she had gotten was a brief section that mentioned that Dark Magic wounds were often fatal. She remembered back in sixth year, when Harry had hit Draco Malfoy with the Sectumsempra curse. Snape had been able to heal it. Maybe that had been because it was his spell and so he was also able to create a counter-curse. The spell that caused her wounds must have been something similar to that. And Malfoy had said he could do something about them. So, unless he was outright lying to her, that meant there was a possible counter-curse somewhere in existence. She knew it was incredibly selfish, but she cursed Snape for not having been alive to fix her scars.

The flashing red lights on the clock by her bedside table told her the hour was approaching midnight. She laid her head on the book before her to rest her eyes. Charlie had given her the week off work to recover, and she hoped to find a solution to her little problem before she returned.

There was a flicker of light outside and her eyes were drawn to the window. The streetlamp outside her house sputtered and went out. The shadows deepened as if drawing in the light from around them and extinguishing it. She glanced further down the street. The other lamps were still lit. The light had probably just blown.

And then she saw it. A shuffle in the dark. Something had moved.

Harry had said he thought _he_ would come back. But surely, with all the protective wards and an Auror in her house, she was safe. Surely.

Something was creeping through the shadows.

"Wilkes." The name came out as little more than a whisper. He was downstairs, probably dozing on her couch right now.

She clutched her wand tightly before her, a curse ready on her lips. The shadows rippled.

"Wilkes!" she called loudly. There was a thumping of feet up the stairs and then he was by her side, wand drawn and ready to fight.

"What is it? What?"

"I saw something," she explained. "Out there, something…"

Wilkes moved to the window, peered outside. The streetlamp had flickered alive again, pushing the shadows back.

"I don't see anything. If there was something there, it's gone now."

Hermione nodded. Beyond, in the night, she couldn't help but feel there were a pair of glittering eyes staring back at her from the dark.

* * *

On Wednesday, Hermione found she could no longer avoid seeing Ron. He showed up on her doorstep early that morning and her mother let him in as she was leaving for work.

"Hi," he said awkwardly. "I know you don't really want to see me—"

"Who told you that?" she protested.

"Ginny."

"Oh."

She led him to the living room and they sat down on opposite ends of the couch in silence. He was looking at her wounds, couldn't take his eyes off them. She knew they had started to crust over and were now more visible than they had been before.

"It's not that bad," he said, one hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. She wanted to believe him, but there were the tiny signs of disgust on his face; the curled lip, the pitying look, the way he held off from touching her.

"You think it's ugly," she stated bluntly.

Ron's face went a bright shade of red and he shouted, "No!"

"Oh, Ron!" She was tearing up and she glared at him accusingly as if this had all been his fault.

"You could cover it up with make-up," Ron said, completely misinterpreting the situation. "Just like Marietta Edgecombe did."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. "Ron, you idiot! How-how could you—"

"What do you want from me, Hermione?" he yelled, both angry and exasperated at once. " I can tell you I don't care until I'm blue in the face, but you won't believe me!" He threw up his hands. "I don't know what you want!"

"Of course you wouldn't," she snapped. "You never get it, do you?" She couldn't sit anymore. She stood and began pacing the room.

"Don't get what?"

Hermione resisted the urge to hit him. Really, he could be so stupid sometimes. "You're not a girl, you wouldn't understand."

"Well, thank Merlin for that! I couldn't handle being crazy half my life!"

"Ron, you-you're being an insensitive jerk!"

"I'm not insensitive! I just don't get why this is such a big deal. You don't even care about being pretty!"

"Of course I do!"

"No, you don't! You're Hermione! You don't bother with that stuff!"

He really hadn't noticed anything she'd done for him. Her eyes flooded with tears and Ron began to get more and more frustrated.

"What do you want me to say? Just tell me and I'll say it!"

"I want you to notice me! I want you to see me as a girl! Not your friend, not the smart kid you copy notes off of! I want you to see me the way you see Fleur and Lavender – as a pretty girl!"

Ron went silent. She wondered briefly if he had finally got it. "But you're not like Fleur or Lavender," he said.

She went livid. "Ron! You-you—"

"What? What?" he asked, honestly confused.

"Insufferable—insensitive—boorish—" she sputtered angrily.

"Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed. He got up from the couch and almost stomped towards the door. "Owl me when you calm down!"

She slammed the door behind him and screamed at the empty room.

* * *

Later that day, after two cups of tea and pacing the kitchen for an hour, she heard a knocking at the window. A large eagle owl was beating its wings furiously against the glass. She let it in and it dropped a letter onto her kitchen table. A large "M" was pressed into the wax seal.

She resisted the urge to incinerate it immediately. She didn't want personal correspondence from him. That made it feel like they were somehow acquaintances or something more. Something other than just former adversaries.

It was waiting for her. Tentatively, she opened it.

_Miss Granger,_

_We have made an important discovery on your case. I expect your presence at the Manor today at twelve o' clock. Do not be late._

_LM_

Not a request. A demand. She crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage, denying the rhythm of her heart that had suddenly picked up. She didn't take orders from Lucius Malfoy. And Harry could communicate any new discoveries to her himself. The next two and a half hours were occupied with scouring through the many books on healing spells.

At twelve-thirty, she received a second note.

_Your tardiness is not appreciated. Come to the Manor immediately or I shall send Draco to fetch you._

_LM_

Did he think she was a House-Elf at his beck and call? She grabbed her wand, whispered "_Incendio_" and the letter burst into flame. The piece of parchment was disintegrating in the sink when she heard a knock at the door. She stilled.

"Granger, I know you're in there!"

Hermione opened the front door to find Draco Malfoy on the other side. The absurdity of the whole situation suddenly struck her; not once in all her years at Hogwarts, would she have ever believed she would find Draco Malfoy standing outside her house. "I'm not going," she told him.

"You _are_ going. No one refuses a Malfoy." He reached out to grab her hand and she slapped him away.

"Yes they do! Or did you forget that your side _lost_ the war and your name is worthless?"

"Cheap shot, Granger." There was a naked bitterness to his voice that caught her off guard.

"Everything OK, Miss Granger?" called a voice from behind her.

"It's fine, Mason. Just an old classmate," Hermione said.

"New boyfriend?" Malfoy asked. "Finally dumped Weasley, have you?"

"Auror," Hermione shot back, irritation clear in her voice. "And none of your business, either way."

"This is about your case," he said, getting back to the original topic.

"_Harry_ is handling my case, not your father." She reached to close the door on him, but he stuck his foot in to stop her.

"Potter's already there. And I'm not going to stand out here all day waiting for you! There's something they have to tell you. It's about your parents," he added quickly and she stopped suddenly.

"What about my parents?"

He didn't answer, but held out his hand. With only a moment's hesitation, she put her hand in his and they Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He didn't take her to the grounds outside the gates. Instead, she found herself standing in Lucius Malfoy's study, the man himself sitting leisurely behind his desk. Draco led her to a chair in front and with firm pressure on her shoulder, forced her to sit.

Hermione looked around and quickly noted a particular absence. "Where's Harry?"

"Mr Potter will be joining us shortly," Lucius replied. She noticed he was appraising her dress and silently cursed herself for not having been able to prepare. Her hair had been left down in wild, frizzy curls and she was wearing an old pair of jeans and a light shirt. "What on earth have you got on, Miss Granger?"

"Muggle clothing," she explained.

"In future, kindly dress appropriately when you plan to be in my presence." His lip was curled up in distaste.

"I didn't plan to be in your presence at all. Now, what about my parents?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius raised a quizzical eyebrow. At her lack of response, he turned to Draco, who shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "It seems my son has told you a small fib."

Her eyes grew wide with realisation and she leapt out of her seat. "What is this?"

"Sit, Miss Granger," Lucius hissed and she was suddenly aware that she was alone in a room with two Malfoys. Not the supposedly reformed and humbled Malfoys, but the Muggle-hating, blood supremists who thought she wasn't fit to breathe the same air, who had aligned themselves with a madman to ensure her kind were wiped out. Harry had told her that his wand was being monitored for Dark Magic, but that still left him with a lot of options if he wanted to hurt her.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, drawing her wand and holding it steady at the elder Malfoy.

"Mr Potter has asked that I keep you informed of any new developments in your case. But if you'd rather I kept you in the dark, I'd be more than willing to oblige," he added with a sneer. "No doubt you have noticed my house does not appreciate your presence here."

She kept her wand raised.

"Do you really think I wish to go back to Azkaban for ending your pathetic life?" He was quickly growing irritated with her unwillingness to obey. But for what may have been the first time, she thought she could see the truth of his words in his pale eyes. "Sit down, Miss Granger."

"Where's Harry?" she returned.

The door whipped open and Harry burst into the room. "Hermione!" He pulled his wand when he saw she had hers out.

"Have you finally decided to join us then, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded.

"Following your instructions," he said as if it were obvious. "Miss Granger was just sitting down. And I assure you, we have not harmed a single hair on her head."

Hermione nodded at Harry and then slowly sank down into her chair. Harry took the chair beside her, but only put his wand away after a few long minutes.

"Draco," Malfoy said, waving his hand imperiously at his son. Draco scowled and left the room. "Now that we're all assembled, let us begin." Malfoy reached within his cloak, withdrew a long dagger with a carved wooden handle, and placed it on the desk before him. "Do you recognize this, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head.

"It's the dagger we retrieved the night you were attacked," Harry explained. "I gave it to Malfoy to investigate."

"Indeed, this dagger may be a crucial piece of evidence. It may interest you to know, this is not a Dark object. It is certainly magical – the blade will never rust, never dull, and never fail. You are fortunate he did not manage to cut you with it. It was used in rituals performed by the Knights of Walpurgis. They were an ancient pure-blood association whose mandate was to guard wizarding society from the Muggle world. Our murderer may fancy himself a modern day knight."

"So he isn't one of these Knights of Walpurgis?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not," Lucius scoffed. "The Knights fell out of history over two centuries ago. No such organization exists now."

"Pure-blood association?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "They sound like Death Eaters."

"Certainly not!" Malfoy hissed and she could tell he was sincerely offended. He composed himself quickly, sitting back in the chair and returning to his bored drawl. "The Knights were a noble order and extremely secretive, restricted only to the most noble and pure-blood families. They were responsible for guarding our most precious secrets and protecting wizards from Muggles. They did not— " He stopped abruptly and refused to finish that sentence. "They had more noble aims."

"If they were so important, why have I never heard of them?"

"The vast majority of the wizarding world has never known of their existence. This secret has been passed down only to pure-blooded wizards of noble families."

"Ron's a pure-blood and he's never—"

"Only to _worthy_ pure-blood families, Miss Granger. Please don't force me to explain myself."

She bristled silently in Ron's defence. "So where does that leave us?"

"Only a few families would have access to something like this. I have managed to narrow it down to seven; that should be a manageable number for Potter to investigate." He passed a slip of paper to Harry with a list of names on it. It was only then she realised that Malfoy had been speaking directly to her the entire time. Harry had noticed it too; he was fuming silently.

Hermione stood. "Thank you for the information, Mr Malfoy, but if that's all—"

"It is not," he stated simply.

She sat back down.

"Mr Potter tells me you have not taken up his offer to move into his home."

She sputtered angrily, turning from Harry (who had gone red) and back to Malfoy, who looked as if he were about to berate her as a disobedient child. "That's none of your—"

"Are you really stupid enough to risk your life and that of your parents to entertain some misguided sense of normality?"

"No—No, I was going to—"

"Mr Potter has made a very generous offer. I strongly suggest you take it."

She threw Harry a vicious glare. He returned it, refusing to back down.

"I think we're done here," she said firmly. Hermione and Harry rose from their seats and began making their way out the door. Malfoy followed them out, reaching out to grasp Hermione's wrist just before she went through the doorway.

"Have you considered my offer?" His voice was quiet, for her ears only.

"No."

Malfoy smiled. "Stubborn girl. I suppose you've tried to find a healing spell on your own, have you?"

Bastard. He already knew the answer to that.

"And did you find it?"

He knew that too, but he wanted her to say it. "Not yet—"

"But, of course, you wouldn't. Injuries caused by Dark Magic require a Dark Magic counter-curse. I doubt the Ministry has _those_ books in its library."

And that was why he was so sure she'd accept. He knew she'd never be able to find the spell on her own. Still, she wasn't stupid enough to give Malfoy any power over her for something as superficial as a scar. She pulled her wrist from his grasp. "Goodbye, Mr Malfoy."

That knowing smirk followed her out the door.


	5. The Black Rose

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 5 - The Black Rose**

**.**

"Do you have to tell him everything?" Hermione asked angrily, when they were outside the Manor.

"He asked, I answered. I didn't think it was something I needed to lie about," Harry said. "Besides, he's right. It's not safe for you to stay at home."

"I know that! I was going to move. I just needed some time to think about it. What I don't need is a lecture from Lucius Malfoy!"

Harry sulked in angry silence.

"Harry, have you even considered that he might have something to do with these murders? He fits his own profile—pure-blood, Muggle-hating, and well-connected."

"He didn't do it, Hermione."

"How do you know?"

"I told you—we've covered all our bases. We know what he's doing and where he is every hour of the day. He _can't_ do anything."

"Draco Malfoy can. He showed up at my house today."

"He wouldn't use his son. He wouldn't risk destroying his life over something like this."

"But he could be using someone else, with Malfoy as go-between."

"He didn't do it!"

It was obvious Harry wasn't even willing to entertain the idea. She wondered what hold Malfoy had over him, that he was so eager to jump to his defence.

"Why are you still working with him?" Hermione pressed on. "You must have other sources."

"He's the best. We've tracked down more dark wizards and Death Eater supporters with his help than anyone else. The amount of dirt he has on people is almost scary."

"Ginny doesn't like it. And neither do I. He was a Death Eater. Whatever he says now, you don't just walk away from a lifetime of prejudice and hate. He was willing to kill for those beliefs and now suddenly they don't mean anything to him?"

"We can't judge everyone on what they _think_. We'd have no end of people locked up in Azkaban if that were the case."

"Right. Heaven forbid Malfoy end up there!"

Harry glared at her bitterly. He Apparated her home and left without saying another word.

* * *

Hermione moved into Number 12 Grimmauld Place the next day, feeling that her grip on normal life was slipping away. It bothered her more than she'd ever admit to Harry. Her parents hadn't been happy with her decision, but were willing to compromise if it meant she would be safe. And they were probably glad to be away from the never ending train of Aurors, some of which had never been in a Muggle home before and had gotten into a bit of trouble with the appliances. Harry's presence had helped. Her mum and dad knew he was some kind of police officer in the wizarding world and they felt more comfortable following the plan if he was involved.

She didn't tell Ron she had moved and she had no idea if Harry had told him either. She was still too upset with him to want to talk at all. For a brief moment, she wished he could have been more like Malfoy—at least he understood _why_ she was distressed, even if it was only to use it against her. Ron was just too thick-headed to figure it out.

On Friday, Harry returned home close to midnight, while she was reading in an armchair by the fireplace. He looked exhausted—his eyes heavy, his face older than his eighteen years.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," she said quietly.

His face was fixed in surprise.

"Did you forget?"

He shook his head and laughed. "I guess so."

"You should spend the night with Ginny. I'm sure she misses you."

"It's too late, now."

"So see her tomorrow."

"I have to—"

"Harry." She gave him a look that said she would take no further argument.

"I'll go tomorrow," he conceded, holding up his hands in defeat.

"Ginny won't wait around for you forever, you know. If you don't go after her, she'll just move on." It was so easy to explain this to Harry, but she thought bitterly that she should probably be doing the same. Ron had never pursued her and it didn't seem likely to ever happen in the future. Harry looked slightly confused by this notion. She hoped he would follow her advice anyway. He deserved to be happy with Ginny.

Harry took a seat in the chair next to her. "Malfoy's planning a ball for the pure-blood families," he said. "He thinks he'll be able to draw out our suspects and observe them around you. And it will give us a chance to question them without looking suspicious."

"So I'm to act as bait?"

"There'll be someone there to guard you at all times and the place will be crawling with Aurors."

She thought for a moment. "I want to bring Ron." They may not have been on good terms right now, but she was still more comfortable with him at her side if she had to be in a room full of pure-blood Death Eater supporters.

"Of course. You can bring whoever you need to feel safe."

Somehow, she didn't think there was anyone who could fill that function.

* * *

The next few days passed uneventfully. She hadn't received a summons to Malfoy Manor since and she suspected that Harry had something to do with that. She kept wondering if Malfoy had acted deliberately to get her out of his house or if this had merely been some kind of power play between him and Harry. Did that mean he had lost or won? What on earth was he playing at to start with?

And why was every meeting with Lucius Malfoy full of hidden meanings and deceptions, power plays, and half-truths?

Being around him was draining the life from her.

But she didn't think he wanted her dead. He'd declared that himself and she was inclined to believe him. It didn't seem that he would benefit from her death, unless he just absolutely hated her and it was a personal vendetta. But, then, it would probably make sense to wait a while longer if he wanted to do that, since he would be a prime suspect for any Dark Magic going on. The Ministry was already breathing down his neck. Unless his whole point was to blow the cover on this case and have the wizarding world running in fear. But that would be detrimental to his own situation, wouldn't it? She didn't think Malfoy would ever put his ideals above his personal gain. He had rejected Voldemort after the first War to stay out of Azkaban and she suspected he only served him to further his own ends to begin with. There had to be something else there, some other reason for what he was doing. She wasn't stupid enough to believe he really found her attractive. There had to be something else he was after.

On Monday, Hermione returned to work for the first time since the attack. Half her day was taken up with well-wishers, gifts, and offers to get anything she needed. Charlie had managed to get her co-workers to pick up some of her assignments so that her desk was clear and she was at the mercy of the well-wishers with no excuse to save her.

Charlie came in to see her around lunch time. "Getting back into the swing of things OK?"

"Yes. Or I will when everyone stops asking me to regale them with tales of my heroic Siren fight."

"Oh." Charlie looked thoughtful. "How's that working out?"

"I'm claiming a Memory Charm," she said with a smile, "because the incident was too traumatic."

"Clever," he said. "Otherwise, how have you been?"

"Well, as you can see, I haven't found a counter-curse yet."

Charlie nodded. "I saw Harry last week taking out a ton of books from the library. I guess you weren't able to find anything then?"

"With the stigma attached to dark wizardry, I think the Ministry has avoided keeping any books that are even remotely associated with Dark Magic. It's making things considerably more difficult."

"Ginny told me that you and Harry are working with Lucius Malfoy."

"Harry's idea. He always works with Malfoy on his Dark Magic investigations. Swears he's the best source he's got." She said the last with a sigh of annoyance.

Charlie took a seat on the edge of her desk. "Hermione, stay as far away from him as you can."

"Malfoy?"

Charlie nodded. "I think he's got some… ulterior motives when it comes to you. Just make sure you're never alone with him."

She'd never be in the same room with him again if she could help it, she thought wryly. "Thanks, Charlie. I will."

The next few days provided some sense of normalcy. She went into work each day, escorted to her office by an Auror. And afterwards, the same person would come to escort her back to the Floo network and then to No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

It was late on Friday afternoon, when she had left the window open to enjoy the late summer breeze. There was a flutter of wings, and she turned to see a large snowy owl fly in through the window, landing lightly on her desk. In its beak, it held a single black rose. It laid the rose gently before her, then spread its wings and flew out the window.

There was no letter, no message. Or maybe that was the message. A single black rose.

* * *

Harry didn't know what it was. It didn't appear to be magical. Hermione had confirmed that with several spells as soon as it reached her desk. She was way too cautious now to be picking up strange items. But someone had gone through the trouble of getting this to her, so it obviously meant something. And it had been sent to her work, not her home, which meant they were already aware that she was no longer there. That was a bit disconcerting.

"I need to find out what this is," Harry said, as he walked towards the fireplace. "Stay here," he called over his shoulder.

But she couldn't very well do that when the bloody thing was sent to _her_ in the first place. She waited until Harry slipped into the room and closed the door, then put her ear up against it to listen.

In a few moments she heard a voice.

"What is it now, Potter?" His voice. Of course that would be the first thing he would do.

"Hermione received this today. Do you know what it means?"

There was silence. "I may. Let me come through so I can see it better."

She heard a rustle of robes and heavy footsteps on the carpet. Her heart leapt into her throat. Lucius Malfoy was in her house—well, not really her house, it was Harry's house. Either way, it was the place she was staying, which had felt safe until he had set foot in it.

"It's a symbol of the Knights of Walpurgis," Malfoy was saying. "It's like a calling card, a promise that he will pursue her."

"And he knows where to find her."

"Where did she receive it?"

"At work. An owl delivered it."

"She should not go back there. He's declaring his ability to pursue her anywhere and at any time."

"She won't like that."

"It doesn't matter. She'll do what she's told."

And that just put her over the edge. She slammed the door open, obviously startling Harry, but Malfoy looked as if he had expected her all along. "I most certainly will not!"

"So nice of you to join us, Miss Granger. I suppose you've overheard our conversation, then? Although, I must say, it's bad manners to listen at doors."

"It's also bad manners to make decisions for me when I'm not in the room!" she snapped back. "I won't be locked up in here until you catch this lunatic."

"Hermione, we didn't—" Harry started.

"You'd rather be served up to him instead?" Malfoy drawled with derision.

"Stop exaggerating! I'm not going to be murdered in broad daylight in the middle of the str—"

"I can't lose you!" Harry shouted suddenly and she stopped. "Maybe that's selfish, but you're my family. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"How touching, Potter."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I'm not going to die on you, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You have to trust me." She squirmed beneath Malfoy's gaze. It was uncomfortable having such an intimate discussion with her best friend in front of him. Why did it seem like he was intruding on every part of her life?

"I do trust you. I just don't want to put you at risk."

"Harry, you can't lock me in a tower until the world is safe."

"He can't, but it would be prudent."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry returned. "Hermione, I won't stop you if you want to go to work."

"Thanks, Harry. I promise I'll be extra careful." She smiled sweetly at him while Malfoy glowered at her.

"You play a dangerous game, Miss Granger," he muttered.

"Maybe, but it's my life to play with," she returned evenly. "Thank you for your help, Mr Malfoy." She gave him a curt nod and left the room.

* * *

Hermione never realised how much she loved her work until she had nearly been deprived of it. She launched into her latest project with so much enthusiasm and drive, Charlie declared she was the best employee he'd ever had and he was glad to see her back to her old self.

Oddly enough, she was growing accustomed to the scars on her face, and while she often got a shock in the morning when she looked into a mirror, they were becoming a part of her and she wasn't nearly as sensitive about it as she had been. They were still weeping. The mediwitches had told her they might take a very long time to heal. The salves she was given helped with that, but they still refused to close up. She was proud of herself for getting over it. She didn't want to be the type of girl who fell apart because she couldn't be pretty.

By the time Thursday rolled around, she was feeling confident and energised, the stress of the past few weeks having fallen away. She was working late this night, drafting and redrafting the Ministry's latest policies on Werewolf access to Wolfsbane potions. The sun had already set, reminding her that it was past nine o' clock. She wrapped up her files and threw them into her bag, prepared to leave.

The lights went out.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, and her wand lit up. But the darkness was thick and her light barely pushed it back.

_"He's declaring his ability to pursue her anywhere and at any time."_

Don't think about that, she scolded herself. Fear isn't going to help. She clutched her bag close and went out, wand first. The hallway was silent, the only sound the click of her heels on the marble floor. There was an Auror waiting for her downstairs. She just had to make it to the elevators.

There was a growl behind her. She skidded to a stop and whirled around, holding her wand steady. Nothing but darkness. Deep, heavy darkness.

"_Homenum revelio_." She was plunged into blackness for a moment as her spell snaked around the room, finding nothing.

She relit the wand and walked quickly towards the elevator. The darkness rippled around her. She broke into a run, dropping the files as she went.

And then something flashed before her, corporeal, but part of the thickened darkness around it. The head of dog emerged, large, black, its fur the softness of night. Red eyes blazed in its head, gripping her heart with their gaze. Its body rippled into being, front paws and then legs breaking away from the dark. It was easily twice the size of any dog she had ever seen.

"_Incarcerous_!" The ropes exploded from her wand, wrapping around the dog for a moment, before suddenly dropping through its body and landing on the ground.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" she shouted. The second spell shot out, passing harmlessly through and disappearing into the darkness.

It growled, baring its teeth, but holding back. She stepped away slowly. It didn't attack, just circled her. She cast _Lumos_ again, her wand glowing brighter this time, holding back the dark. It shied away. Encouraged, she pushed her wand forward. It snarled, shaking its head and pawing the ground.

And then it leapt. Hermione screamed and dropped to the ground, covering her head as the dog shot over her. It landed without a sound, snarling at her and melting back into the darkness, moving silently.

She whispered a quiet incantation and then blue-coloured flames were streaming from her wand, outlining a path towards the elevators. Don't think, just move, she told herself and took off at a dead run, keeping her eyes on the destination before her, blocking out the rippling darkness that followed her, that nipped at her heels and clawed at her robes. She threw herself into the elevator, slamming her hand down on the buttons and willing the doors to close, to shut out the darkness.

She didn't return to work the next day.


	6. The New World Order

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 6 – The New World Order**

**.**

Bait night had arrived, as Hermione affectionately called it. Lucius Malfoy's pure-blood ball to honour the heroes of the war. It was all political propaganda to show that pure-blood society was falling into line with the new world order. But, in this case, she wasn't going to argue—it was also going to help them find her attacker.

She hadn't told Harry of what had happened the other night at the Ministry, although she suspected he might know something if he talked to the Auror who had escorted her home. She was afraid he would overreact and insist that she not go back to work. It was easy to avoid telling Harry anything if she wasn't so inclined. He always left early and returned late at night, and she would only catch him in passing if she waited up.

But the incident had left her both angry and shaken. Angry because work was her refuge, a place where she felt capable and in control and that was being ripped away from her by a psychopath with a vendetta against Muggles. And it wasn't fair. She had spent the last year of her life living in forests and running from the Snatchers. She had risked everything to help Harry defeat Voldemort. She _deserved_ to have her life back.

Hermione added the finishing touches to her make-up, which was decidedly minimal, as there was no point in trying to cover up or compete with the scars on her face. They'd be visible no matter what she did. Her dress was a light lavender and pink chiffon that swept from her feet gracefully and billowed gently when she walked. Her hair spiralled down in graceful curls. She felt confident enough, pretty enough, to face down a room of people who hated her on principle.

When Ron arrived to pick her up and she placed her hand on his arm, she felt feminine and beautiful, and was almost ready to forgive him for their last fight. Somehow, it was so much easier to hold a grudge when they worked in separate places and rarely saw each other.

They Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor and Ron led her inside. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy greeted them with cold eloquence at the entrance of the ballroom, all fake smiles and pure-blood grace.

The ballroom didn't surprise her in the least; she had learned to expect the opulence and finery that the Malfoys considered their due, and the ballroom was no exception. An enormous chandelier of glittering crystal hung from the ceiling, light dancing off its facets. Elegant tapestries hung from the walls, while the back of the room was covered in floor to ceiling windows and doors that led out into the garden. Tables of delicate hors d'oeuvres were laid out, with piles of fruit carved into elaborate sculptures. The guests—Voldemort-supporters, she reminded herself— were dressed in some of the finest robes and most ostentatious jewels she had ever seen. Hermione also recognized a few faces from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They wore dress robes, but the deliberation in their movements told her they were on guard.

They passed Harry, who scarcely had a moment to spare for them. The pure-bloods were hard at work ingratiating themselves to him, and all but pawing at him to keep his attention. "Did you hear Harry won some Auror award?" Ron said. "He's doing great. He'll be heading the department in no time."

"No, I hadn't…" Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Hey, Oliver's here!"

Oliver Wood waved them over. "Evening Ron, Hermione."

"Nice to see a friendly face here," Ron said. "Not exactly ideal company."

"I know. I'm working to keep them in line."

"You're an Auror?" Ron asked incredulously. "But where's your robe?"

"We're meant to blend in," Oliver explained with a conspiratorial wink.

Within moments, the two had forgotten her presence as the conversation descended into the latest Quidditch match. Hermione wandered away, quietly scrutinising the party-goers for some sign of… what? The whole lot of them were probably Muggle-born hating, blood supremists. How were they supposed to distinguish the supporters from the actors?

She was starting to feel like she was on display as she walked; people were staring at her intently. She was sure her scars were at least partly to blame for that, but the looks she received were more angry than pitying. The man who attacked her, who had murdered several Muggles and Muggle-borns, might be in this room. He might be watching her right now.

"Miss Granger."

She turned to see Lucius Malfoy standing behind her. "Mr Malfoy."

"I see Mr Weasley has found more agreeable company. Come."

He held out his hand. She didn't take it.

Malfoy sighed. "Silly girl. You were promised a guardian at all times, were you not?"

She nodded warily.

"Then take my hand."

She hesitated. The distance between them was a comfort to her. It was a small thing, but it felt important somehow.

"I'm not going to bite you," he chuckled. The smile was gone in a moment as his mood suddenly turned serious. "Enough of your silliness. Your hand." It was an order, not a request. She noted the subtle difference in his tone. She didn't move.

But there was no logical reason for her not to take it. The man who had tried to kill her might be in this room—he'd made several more attempts, so her life was certainly in danger. Harry had promised her a guard and Malfoy was certainly capable of protecting her in his own house.

There was no reason for her not to take it.

She reached out and the moment her fingers had touched his hand, he gripped them, pulling her closer. The smile on his face was almost enough to send her running to the other side of the room. She only resisted the urge to prove that she was able to face him on his own terms and then she heard him murmur, "Good girl," and her stomach twisted on itself.

He'd held her hand this way once before—at the Ministry during his trial. And she'd been terrified of him then, pulling away, screaming at him to let go. But though his presence still made her uncomfortable, she didn't fear him now the way she had before. She was growing stronger, she thought to herself. Lucius Malfoy was no longer able to reduce her to a trembling, shaking mess.

She glanced around for Ron. His back was to her and he was still deep in conversation with Oliver. Only now they had been joined by a very pretty Ravenclaw, who she remembered had been on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts. And she was very obviously flirting with both men.

Malfoy was leading her along beside him. "Miss Granger, this is Aristos Crowley," he said and she looked up. There was an older man standing before her, his grey hair swept back neatly from his face, which was deeply lined. Despite his fine clothes, he smelled like musty furniture and firewhiskey. "Aristos, I'm sure you know of Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter."

They were looking down at her like a couple of Norwegian Ridgebacks considering their prey, waiting for her to make a move before they closed in. She squirmed uncomfortably, but her hand was still in Malfoy's grasp.

"What a delight to meet the Golden Girl of the Trio." His words were dripping with sickly-sweet acid. "Certainly, your presence _graces_ us." He bowed, but his eyes on her made a mockery of the gesture. He looked at her as if she were something filthy that belonged under his shoe.

"A pleasure," she returned blandly.

"I suppose you owe your good standing to this… creature, Lucius?" He gestured at her imperiously.

"He owes it to Harry," Hermione said. "Mr Malfoy and I aren't—"

"Miss Granger is a valuable ally and a pleasant companion," Malfoy interjected smoothly. He released her hand and let his slide around her side to curl lightly at her lower back. It was like a burning coal, but she didn't dare pull away.

"Forgive me, I've left my own companion for too long," Crowley excused himself. She heard mutters of "Filthy Mudblood" as he turned away.

"Pure-blooded bastard," she returned under her breath.

"Is that sentiment directed at me?" Malfoy was smiling down at her.

She reflected his own smirk back at him.

"I shall take that as a 'yes'." He chuckled as if he found this very amusing and not at all offensive. "You don't approve of my guests."

"I think your guests would be only too happy to see me strung up from the ceiling."

"I imagine they would."

"You're not even going to try to deny it?"

"What would be the point? You seem to have made up your mind about me and everyone else here. I'm sure there's little I could do to alter that."

"There's _a lot_ you could do to alter that. You just choose not to."

"Is that an invitation, Miss Granger?" His voice had turned low and suggestive.

"Not the kind you're thinking of."

"Pity," he muttered.

Another party guest greeted them. This time, Hermione couldn't help glaring back at the disgusted look thrown at her.

"Do you hate them?" Malfoy asked casually.

"I think it's natural to hate people who hate you."

"That argument sounds akin to 'But they started it'."

"But they did, didn't they? It's not like the Muggle-borns all got together and decided to eliminate the pure-bloods."

"Perhaps they did," Malfoy muttered, looking away from her.

"What was that?" she shot back. If he really wanted to get into the morality of pure-blood supremacy, she was more than willing to take him on.

"You infer that Muggle-borns have never threatened wizarding society." He raised an eyebrow as if to imply the statement was inherently false.

"I _inferred_ that Muggle-borns have never threatened _pure-bloods_ and so the _pure-bloods_ cannot claim their actions are self-defence. Pure-bloods are not wizarding society. That includes all of us, if you hadn't noticed."

"But it is one and the same to those of pure-blood. Our very identity is intimately tied to wizarding society and we are heavily invested in its future."

"Its future?" she scoffed. "The Death Eaters' irrational attempts to create purity and destroy anything 'tainted' were responsible for decreasing the magical population, as I recall."

"Only the undesirables," he muttered, so quietly she barely caught the words. Louder, he said, "You are not a parent, Miss Granger, you wouldn't understand."

"I'd think being a parent, you'd have some respect for other people's children, but clearly I'm wrong. You had no problem sacrificing a few Muggle-borns or even Ginny Weasley to get what you wanted."

"I do not mean it in that sense. As a parent, my concern is for the next generation and those after that. Marrying a Muggle into a wizarding bloodline breaks the inheritance of magic from one generation to the next. Squibs have been born to those who have Muggles in their lineage."

"Even if that's true, it's your _choice_ not to let Muggle-borns into your family. You have no right to make that decision for anyone else."

"You may have a point there, Miss Granger. But I would think with your efforts to free House-Elves, you would understand feeling responsible for something and acting for its benefit although you may not have an exclusive right to."

"That's different."

"Really? Do you have a right to make choices for the House-Elves?"

"Well… no… " she conceded slowly. "I just feel that someone should protect them—"

"As do I."

"But—" She stopped when she realised she had just confirmed his point. Her instinct was to tell him he was just wrong, but she didn't want to seem ignorant and pig-headed. "I suppose it's understandable, even if it's not right," she said, refusing to meet his eyes. "That doesn't justify the means, though."

"No, it doesn't," he said.

Had they just agreed on something? And was she having a conversation with Lucius Malfoy? She couldn't say that it was entirely disagreeable either. He was smart enough to catch her in her contradictions, which her friends were rarely able to do, and it made talking to him both interesting and challenging. And that was saying nothing of the breadth of knowledge he had.

This whole situation made her uncomfortable.

He wasn't holding her, so she took the opportunity to walk away. Predictably, he followed, grabbing hold of her arm even while she tried to ignore him. "Stay by my side," he murmured in her ear. "It's the safest place for you right now."

"I really doubt that," she snapped, glaring at him.

"My dear girl, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done so," he laughed.

"You did. Or did you already forget that?"

He frowned. "We do have history together, you and I."

The thought made her gag. Sharing anything with Lucius Malfoy was more than distasteful. "We don't have anything together. Now, let go."

"As you wish." He obliged, but his eyes commanded her to stay and his hand slid beneath her hair to hover over the back of her neck, threatening to grab hold if she tried to go. Grudgingly, she stayed put, arms crossed over her chest defensively. She turned her gaze outward, anywhere but up at him, and her eyes wandered over to a corner of the room, where Pansy Parkinson was hanging on Theodore Nott's arm, and flattering the pure-blooded socialite before her. Hermione couldn't help but sneer at the sight. She had been sympathetic towards Pansy before, but seeing her try to ingratiate herself to these people caused old feelings of resentment to rise to the surface.

"You do not approve of Miss Parkinson's actions?"

"Of course not. She could have tried to stand on her own, instead she just finds someone else to hide behind."

"It's in her nature. I knew her parents. They were not true supporters of the Dark Lord, but lack of fortune and prestige had them trying to curry favour by selling their morals and support. She learned well from them."

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. "Is that supposed to make me respect her?"

"No, it's supposed to make you understand her. Know thy enemy, Miss Granger. Miss Parkinson's ambition is merely self-preservation."

"Pansy's not my enemy."

Malfoy just smiled as if she were some ridiculous child struggling to understand what was right in front of her. "She's smart enough to know that getting your favour would be beneficial to her. But don't believe for a moment that she or anyone else in here is any less of a threat or would hesitate to take you down if the opportunity presented itself."

"Does that include yourself, Mr Malfoy?"

"Perhaps."

"I thought you were reformed?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I am. I am no longer attempting to harm any Muggle-borns." He smiled at her as if he had decided this just for her benefit.

"That's not reform; that's just restraint," she snapped back. "Inside, you're the same vile creature you've always been."

His eyes darkened, clear grey turning to steel. Instinctively, she reached for her wand, but it was strapped to her leg beneath her dress. She silently cursed herself, wishing she had put it somewhere more accessible.

"You seem ungrateful for all my assistance, Miss Granger." The words were clipped, hard, full of icy restraint and she was taken back by the sudden change in tone.

"I never asked for your help!" She stepped back. Every inch between them was far too close.

"And yet you benefit from it."

"That doesn't mean anything. You'd be helping Harry even if—"

He reached out, his hand suddenly gripping the side of her face, his thumb stroking her scars. She shuddered at the contact. "When are you going to give in and accept my offer?"

Again with the double-speak. Somehow, she knew there was more implied there than he let on. "I will never be that desperate."

"Let us hope not," he said with a knowing smile.

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said loudly, spotting the woman behind him. Malfoy dropped his hand from her face as if he'd been burned and turned to face his wife.

Narcissa didn't look pleased with her husband, but, then, she never looked pleased with anything at all. Hermione took the opportunity to slip away, heading towards the French doors and ducking outside before anyone noticed she was gone.

The night air was warm and heavy, thick with the scent of sweet smelling flowers, but she breathed it in with a sigh of relief to be away from Lucius Malfoy's suffocating presence and his horrid party guests. She leaned against the wall, observing the manicured gardens in the scant illumination from the globes of light that hung in the air. A row of hedges surrounded a walkway, leading out to pond with large lilypads. The ghostly form of a white peacock was meandering the grounds further off. She was standing by the pond when she heard the rustle of robes. A young man stepped around the hedges, stopping suddenly when he noticed her presence.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone else was out here," he said.

"No, it's alright. I just needed some air."

He stepped into the light. He was barely taller than she and so thin he appeared delicate. Wisps of mouse-brown hair curled around his head. "Pure-blood parties a little too stuffy for you?"

"Yes, but how did you—"

"You're Hermione Granger. Everyone knows you. Claudius Crowley," he said, extending his hand. He took up hers and brought it to his lips.

She eyed him quizzically, trying to compare him to the thick-set Aristos Crowley she had met earlier.

"Sorry, is there something—"

"No, no, I just think I met your father earlier this evening."

"Aristos Crowley. Yes, that's him. I hope it wasn't too unpleasant for you."

"No, he was charming," she lied.

He laughed. "You'll have to excuse him. My father's very old-fashioned and set in his traditions. He doesn't like change and this new world order has been hard on him."

"Not on you?"

"I never paid much attention to pure-blood customs. Besides, I'm the second-born son. There aren't any expectations for me. I guess you met my brother too?"

"Your brother?"

"Marcus Crowley. He works for the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"No, we haven't met."

Claudius pointed him out across the room. Marcus Crowley was tall and broad-shouldered like his father, an imposing man with an easy grace. A Ministry employee and a pure-blood with access to information. She wondered if the Crowleys were on Lucius Malfoy's list of possible suspects. She decided to dig a little further.

"Did you go to Hogwarts? I can't remember seeing you there."

"No, my brother and I went to Durmstrang. Father was very strict about us mixing with anyone except pure-bloods. That's all changed now, of course," he added, trying not to offend her. "It's just the older generation that thinks that way."

"But a first-born son is expected to follow in his father's footsteps?" she asked, thinking how Draco Malfoy had always been just a mouthpiece for his father's beliefs.

"That's what they expect. But it doesn't always happen that way."

"Granger."

She turned at the voice, to find Draco Malfoy looking down at her from the doorway, his white-blond hair shimmering in the lamplight.

"Father sent me to find you." He gave a dismissive nod towards Claudius and the young man quietly bowed and took his leave. "Why are you out here alone when you're supposed to have a guard?"

"I just wanted some air. And I hardly think I'm in danger when we're surrounded by Aurors."

He descended the steps and crossed the distance between them. "Come back inside."

"I'd rather stay here, if it's all the same to you."

"It's not. Come back inside." When she refused to move, he tried to grab her arm. She slapped him away, hard, and Draco recoiled.

"I am getting sick and tired of you Malfoy men thinking you can order me around! I said no, and I'm not going!"

"Merlin, Granger, are you that bloody stupid?" he shouted at her. "Do you want to stand out here and get killed?"

"I'm not helpless, Malfoy! I can take care of myself! I survived, if you hadn't noticed!" She gestured at the scars on her face.

"Barely! If Weasley hadn't shown up, you'd be dead!"

"What would it matter to you? You've always hated me! If someone wants to kill me, why don't you just help them along?"

"I don't hate you, you stupid bint! Why don't you ever listen?" He grabbed her arms and shook her and she shoved him. But he was much stronger and when he shoved back, she screamed and tumbled backwards into the pond. Her wand was out as soon as she had recovered her senses and before Draco could even stop laughing, she had cast her spell. In a moment, he was replaced by a screeching white chicken.

She huffed, pushing her dripping hair from her face. Which then turned red with humiliation when she saw Lucius Malfoy standing not three feet away and observing the scene.

"I hadn't intended for this to be a swimming party, Miss Granger." He glanced over at the fluttering animal that was running circles beside him. "And is that my son?" He waved his wand and Draco was suddenly sitting on the ground beside the pond, coughing up feathers.

She sputtered indignantly, but accepted Malfoy's hand when offered and pulled herself out. Her dress was clinging to her, dripping with water, and leaving her horribly exposed. Malfoy was glancing at her from beneath lowered eyelids, a sly smile on his lips. She threw him a hateful glare before muttering a quick drying spell.

"What on earth have the two of you been up to?" he asked.

"Just a small disagreement," Hermione said.

"That ended in the pond?"

"Yes!" she shot back, refusing to be embarrassed.

"If I'd known you found my party so disagreeable, I would not have forced you to endure it so long. You're welcome to wait in my study, Miss Granger. Draco, escort her there and do try to avoid anymore squabbling."

"I can't," Hermione protested. "Ron will be wondering where I am."

"I'll let Mr Weasley know he's relieved of duty and may go home for the night. Now, Draco?"

"Of course, Father." Draco offered Hermione his arm. Hesitantly, she took it and he led her away.

"I didn't mean to push you in the pond," he said, in what sounded suspiciously like an apology. She noticed he wouldn't even look at her as he said it.

"I'm sorry I turned you into a chicken." But as soon as the words left her mouth, she started to giggle. "I really am." Draco's face was a stoic mask, which only made her laughter increase. "It was better than a ferret though, wasn't it?"

"You're really impossible!" he snapped and that silenced her instantly. She let go of his arm and they walked side by side in silence.


	7. Power

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 7 – Power**

**.**

Draco was pacing, obviously uncomfortable to be alone with her. He looked at the walls, the bookshelves, the paintings, pretending to be distracted by everything around him. She didn't blame him; what did two old enemies have to talk about anyway?

Hermione fidgeted with her nails, surreptitiously glancing around at the curious items in Malfoy's study. What she wouldn't give to spend an entire day cataloguing these. Malfoy Manor had several lifetimes worth of magical objects, probably the most enviable collection in the entire wizarding world. The amount and quality of those objects had been under speculation while he was on trial, many wizards wondering what, if anything, would be put up for auction or confiscated by the Ministry. Hermione had heard they hadn't recovered nearly as many Dark artefacts as they had expected and it was rumoured he had a hidden stash somewhere that had yet to be discovered. She didn't doubt that Lucius Malfoy might have managed to hide the truly valuable things from the Ministry.

She looked up to find Draco staring at her intently. "What?" she asked.

"Just wondered why you hadn't managed to fix that yet," he said, one finger gesturing at his own face.

He didn't know? Not surprising. His father probably didn't trust him enough to tell him everything. "I'm just having a little trouble getting the right information."

"And I thought you knew everything."

She rolled her eyes. "No one knows everything, Malfoy. Don't be ridiculous."

"So what then? Are you going to have that forever?"

"Maybe," she said, refusing to give into his goading. "If I can't find a counter-curse, then I don't have much choice, do I?"

He made a face, wrinkling up his nose like a little piglet. "Why don't you ask Father for a counter-curse?"

She looked away. She couldn't answer that.

"Well?" And he couldn't take a hint.

"Your father isn't going to help me."

He was quiet—thoughtful, if such a thing were possible for Draco Malfoy. Then, "Oh." He paced the room a bit more, fidgeting restlessly, and then dropped into the chair beside her.

"So you're living with Potter?"

She glared at him. It was none of his business where she was living and she was annoyed that her life seemed to be on display for the whole Malfoy family.

"I hear things around here," he explained. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. "So why not Weasley? Thought you'd be running to him."

"Harry had an extra room and he offered."

"I guess the Weasel couldn't afford to keep you."

"Draco Malfoy, are you never going to grow up?" she snapped.

He gave her an arrogant smirk.

She tried to ignore him, refused to make eye contact, but Draco continued. "Or maybe he just didn't want you. You know, I figure Weasley profited off this war more than anyone. His dad got a promotion, didn't he? And now he's got that joke shop." His words were bitter and angry, more for himself than for her, she knew. She wasn't even sure if he really intended to tell her these things, to give away as much as he was, but maybe it was because she was here, reminding him of all their school rivalries. Maybe it was because Harry, being in his house and using his father as a source, was a daily reminder of how he'd lost in all the ways that mattered, of how he had failed in the worst ways possible.

But she didn't have one bit of sympathy for Draco Malfoy. His family's troubles had all been brought on themselves.

She stood now, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Mr Weasley _deserved_ that promotion. He worked harder than anyone trying to keep the wizarding world safe from people like—like your father. His entire family fought in the war against a madman that _your_ kind supported!" Her voice was rising now and she saw Draco draw back in his chair. "And don't you dare talk about Ron! He didn't ask for the joke shop—he had to give up everything he wanted to take care of it. The Weasleys lost more than a lot of people in the war!"

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for them?" Draco sneered at her, his face turning ugly and twisted. "We lost everything! The rest of us didn't get to choose to give up anything—we had it taken! Or didn't you notice that part? Typical, Granger. You only see what you care about and ignore the rest. Pure-blood suffering doesn't mean a damn thing to you, does it?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

"Of course not, you're barely even a part of the wizarding world. Maybe that's why Weasley doesn't want you."

She slapped him, so hard that the sound of her palm hitting his face rang sharply in the room.

"What do you know? You selfish, spoiled, arrogant brat! You blame everyone else for your failures, but the only real failure here is _you_." She looked at him with all the contempt and disgust she could muster. It wasn't lost on him—she could sense Draco shrivel beneath her gaze.

With a disgusted huff, she swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.

She was trembling, she realised, even as her anger continued to flare hotly. Draco didn't know—couldn't know for sure. She'd never given anyone reason to doubt her relationship with Ron. But his words had cut straight to the heart of it, had nipped at the truth and laid bare her hidden insecurities. The ones she had tried to hide even from herself.

The click of a door sounded behind her. She sped up and quickly turned a corner. Draco was likely following her. Lucius Malfoy had been going on about giving her a guard earlier—she guessed he was not supposed to leave her alone. But she didn't want to see him. She didn't want to think what her eyes might reveal.

She ran down the hall and stopped at the first double doors she came to. This was likely a general room—a dining room or a parlour room. The doors were locked so she whispered a quick "_Alohamora_" and they opened at her touch. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her. In a minute, she heard the clipped sound of Draco's footsteps passing by.

With a sigh, she turned from the door and looked around, her breath catching in her throat when the realisation hit her.

This was the drawing room.

This was where it had happened.

Cold crept over her skin, seeping into her veins until she was frozen to the floor. Of all the places to stumble upon, how could she end up here?

She needed to leave, to get out, and never think of this place again.

Above was an empty hole in the ceiling where a chandelier had been. _The sound of glass shattering around her, tiny shards cutting into her skin._

She was trembling, violently, and she fisted her hands into the delicate chiffon of her gown.

There was hole in the carpet. _Bellatrix was standing there – her face frightening, mad. A thin stream of fire slithered from her wand and into the carpet._

There were spots of blood on it. Was it hers? Why was it still there?

_"It's a copy, just a copy!"_

Someone was screaming. She spun quickly, looking for the source of the voice. No, that sound was in her head.

They were her screams.

As if someone had burned the image of that scene into the room, she could almost see the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange standing there, shrieking crucios, her arm flailing wildly with her casting.

And then she could feel it—acid creeping through her veins, melting skin from bone, ripping its way out of her…

_"Calm yourself, Bellatrix." It was Lucius Malfoy's voice, drawling in that bored and distant manner that was so horribly familiar to her._

_"Shut up, Lucius! The little bitch is lying!"_

_"Be that as it may, she won't tell us a thing if she's dead."_

_Bellatrix ceased her curses, her heaving breaths sounding loud and desperate. Hermione choked on her relief, holding as still as possible because every movement was agony, hoping they would just give up and leave her alone. And then a strong hand twisted in her hair, lifting her head. The scent of his cologne washed over her—sandalwood and bergamot—, and it took all her willpower to stop herself from pulling away from him._

_"Open your eyes, girl. Don't insult me by feigning unconsciousness." She did as he told her, not wanting to give them another reason to continue the onslaught of curses. Through the blur of her tears, she could make out Lucius Malfoy's pale pinched face, his grey eyes looking down at her in a mixture of hate and disgust._

_"Please." It was her voice—a thought that suddenly made itself real. She didn't know she even had the strength to say it._

_"Filthy creature." She saw, more than heard, the words fall from his lips. And then he turned away. "She's still conscious."_

_"Then move away, Lucius, so that I can continue our… interrogation."_

_"Because your methods have proved so effective, Bella." She could almost sense the sneer on his face._

_"Then what do you suggest, dear brother-in-law?"_

_"The goblin—he can tell us whether it's real or not. Draco, fetch him," he ordered. She heard the distant thump of footsteps as Draco left the room._

_"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking on the word. "Please, stop."_

_He looked down his nose at her, all cold arrogance."Begging? I don't have any sympathy for Mudbloods." He released her hair, letting her head drop back to the floor. Her eyes were still pouring tears in an endless torrent, and he brushed his hand across her cheek in a mock caress. "Don't cry for relief so soon. When we're done with you, we'll hand you over to Greyback. He won't be so kind."_

_"No… no… please…"_

_He rose from the floor, brushing her hands away even as she clutched at his robes, begging for mercy she knew she wouldn't get. She grasped the hem, refusing to give up. With a snarl, he ripped the fabric from her grasp and brought his heel down on her hand. She screamed as bones broke and muscle tore beneath his foot._

_His voice was hard and sharp above her, piercing through the dull haze of pain. "Disgusting."_

_And then another curse was tearing through her and she was screaming, screaming because it wouldn't end, because she would surely die from the pain, because she wanted to die—_

"Miss Granger, you have an unhappy habit of wandering around my house unchecked. One would almost think you enjoyed being here."

Hermione turned slowly, her nerves still screaming from the remembered assault. He was standing there, just as he had been in her memory—straight white-blond hair brushing his shoulders, piercing grey eyes, hard as ice, and that subtle curl of his lip that spoke his disdain of everything around him. She shuddered and he caught the slight movement.

"What are you doing in here—here of all places?" He seemed to notice the room they were in for the first time. "Who let you in?"

"No one," she said, struggling to gain control of her voice. "I opened the door myself."

"Why?"

"I didn't know." He was looking her over and only then did she notice she had ripped her dress where she'd gripped it.

"I told you to wait in my office, you stupid girl. Why did you leave?"

He reached for her arm, but the moment she saw him move she drew her wand and pointed it at his throat. "Don't touch me," she hissed.

"Miss Granger, do not threaten me in my own house." His voice was low and steady, not showing the slightest bit of fear that she was pointing her wand at him.

Didn't he get it yet? She was the one with the power here—a celebrated war heroine with a great career ahead of her. He was a prisoner in his own home, working for Harry Potter because he was the only person who hadn't discarded him as Death Eater scum.

Her hand was shaking.

"Lower your wand."

She wouldn't.

Because she couldn't stop dreaming about that day, could still feel the searing pain of the cruciatus curse that had burned its memory into her skin, still see his face as he stood watching her screaming on the floor. Because that day was the reason she couldn't move on and let go, that still had her living in fear of him even though he was now powerless.

Because he deserved to feel some of what she felt.

But he didn't.

He reached out and grasped the wand gently in his hand, then slowly pushed it away. She didn't stop him.

He answered her angry expression with a knowing smile. "I'm sure you do not mean to murder me in a house full of Aurors."

"I think I could convince Harry to cover it up," she returned sharply.

The smile dropped from his face. "You are not a murderer, Miss Granger, so let's not play games with idle threats."

"And you are." She glared at him hatefully, frustrated that she did not have the lack of conscience necessary to win against him.

He refused to answer her. "If you're quite done making threats on my life, I suggest we return to my office to discuss the night's events."

She nodded and preceded him through the door. He kept a proper distance from her, never coming close enough to make her uncomfortable the way he usually did. Maybe her outburst had affected him?

They entered Malfoy's office to find Draco and Harry in a stalemate, staring at each other from across the room. Harry started when she entered, looking concerned, and she gave him a brief smile to assure him.

Hermione took a seat in front of the desk and Harry pulled up another chair beside her, looking pointedly at Draco, silently asking why he was still there.

"He can stay," Lucius said. "I've had him working the entire night."

Hermione watched with interest as Harry conceded.

Lucius didn't sit, but walked towards the fireplace and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. Standing across the room from them, he appeared completely in control. Somehow, Harry's presence didn't comfort her the way it usually did. "I believe the night was quite successful." He was looking at her directly again, speaking as if they were the only two in the room.

"What did you find out?" Harry asked.

Hermione was silent, refusing to show her discomfort. She had already given away far more than she should have tonight.

Lucius looked over at his son with an approving smile. "Draco has done most of the work; I'll let him tell you."

"I spent a bit of time with all of Father's suspects," Draco said, obviously enjoying the attention he was now getting. "Blackthorne is well-connected enough to make it happen, but I don't think he'd risk it. He seems more concerned about rebuilding his wealth and status to bother with a personal vendetta against Muggles. The Whitestaffs would—they're all pretty reckless. I doubt they'd be smart enough to pull this off, but it's possible. Did find out they were in Romania when Granger was attacked. Norwood couldn't stop staring at her the whole night, and going on about her filthy blood. I think he's a pretty damn likely bet if we can figure where he was that night. And Crowley—"

"As in Marcus Crowley? Our Assistant Head?" Harry asked. "He doesn't hate Muggle-borns. He just hired three last week."

Draco snickered to himself as if Harry were dense. "That's what he _says,_ Potter. And he makes a good show of it too. But the Malfoys have known the Crowleys a long time. They were secret supporters of the Dark Lord. Trust me, they hate Mud—Muggle-borns."

"Just because he felt that way before, doesn't mean he does now. Maybe he changed."

"Well, from the way he was talking about _her_"—he inclined his head towards Hermione— "I don't think he has."

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but seemed to falter at finding the words.

"But he's not the only one, Potter," Draco continued. "There are a lot of pure-bloods who are seriously pissed off at Granger just for existing. They blame the Dark Lord's fall on her, more than you."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"It does to them," Lucius said. "They believe that were it not for the Muggle-borns, there would have been no war, at all. And their status now is dependent on proving they support those whom they truly despise. You do not see that this situation might be abhorrent and inciting to them? And, Miss Granger, being a hero of the war and Harry Potter's best friend, is an easy target for that anger."

Hermione quietly absorbed his words.

"Was this not the world you were fighting for, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all. I've always known _some_ people would never get over their prejudices," she said, looking pointedly at him. "Thankfully, not everyone shares your opinion."

Lucius quirked an eyebrow at her. "To whom are you referring? The Weasleys? We hardly consider them part of pure-blood society."

"She was talking to the younger Crowley," Draco interjected. "And looking pretty friendly with him."

"Claudius Crowley? Aristos' second son?" Lucius asked, looking at Draco. "The cripple?"

Draco nodded his confirmation.

Hermione scowled at them. "He was perfectly agreeable when I spoke to him."

"Of course, he would be. Probably grateful anyone was willing to talk to him," Lucius muttered. Draco snickered and Hermione resisted the urge to slap him.

"As I heard it, he flunked out of Durmstrang," Draco said. "Never even finished his OWLs. Oh, he's not stupid, not really, I don't think. But he's sick a lot—weak lungs or something. Lucky for him, the Crowleys are well off. He doesn't need to work."

Hermione grumbled under her breath. The wizarding world could be so stupid and backwards sometimes. Whatever problem Claudius had could likely have been treated in the Muggle world, but wizards, having been insulated against scientific advancements, were often generations behind in their treatments of recurring ailments that couldn't be solved with magic.

"This may be useful, however," Lucius was saying. "We suspect the older brother and, if he is guilty, he will not be forthcoming. The younger Crowley may be a willing source of information. Draco, I suggest you pay them a visit."

Draco was grinning to himself, trying to hide his eagerness to go along with his father's plan, but it was clear to everyone in the room.

Harry cleared his throat loudly. "Malfoy, I don't think that's a good idea."

Lucius stopped swirling his firewhiskey and raised an eyebrow at Harry. "And why not?"

"Because I don't think Draco's reliable enough. If he tips off Crowley, it could destroy the entire case. And this is my Assistant Head we're talking about—not some former Death Eater we're free to investigate."

"I wouldn't tip him off, Potter!" Draco snapped. "I'm not that stupid!"

"Maybe you wouldn't," Harry said. "But I don't know that. I'd rather put someone on the case that I trust."

Draco looked to his father for support, but Lucius refused to meet his gaze.

"I'm still in charge of this investigation," Harry continued, "and I'll decide who follows up on leads. I'm not willing to take risks when Hermione's life is at stake."

Draco leaned against the bookcase and sulked, while Hermione regarded Harry with approbation. Lucius Malfoy having even a small amount of control over her life was unsettling and she was comforted by Harry's refusal to give in.

"Very well, Potter," Lucius said. "As you say, it is your case." His mouth had become a thin, hard line across his face. "So how do you plan to protect Miss Granger at the Ministry, as she still insists on risking her life for a desk job?"

Harry was thoughtful for a moment, then finally said, "I don't think he'll try anything at the Ministry. It's too open, too risky."

That caused her to give a disbelieving laugh, which she regretted as soon as it left her lips. Harry looked at her quizzically.

"You find something funny, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked.

"No, no. I just—"

"Did something happen at the Ministry?" Harry asked. "Mason told me you were panicked when he brought you home last Thursday and that you stayed home yesterday."

She searched frantically for some excuse. "I wasn't… feeling well."

Lucius's piercing gaze struck her from across the room. "You're lying, Miss Granger," he said quietly.

"I'm not," she said, but even she didn't think it sounded convincing.

Lucius tilted his head to the side as he observed her, waiting. She knew Harry and Draco were still there, but why did it seem like there was no one else in the room? Why was his presence so suffocating?

She looked down, pressing her chin into her hand.

"What happened, Hermione?" Harry's hand was on her arm. "Was it him? Did Crowley attack you?"

"No!" she protested. "No, it was something else."

"What?"

"I don't know," she said slowly. "It was like a dog, but not real. It was part of the darkness."

"Part of the dark," Lucius muttered to himself. Then, "A gwyllgi."

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"The Black Hound. They were magical creatures that roamed Wales centuries ago. Now the only ones that exist are contained within magical objects."

Hermione tapped her lip thoughtfully. She recalled having read something about the gwyllgi in passing several years ago at Hogwarts, but all her research had told her that they no longer existed. How was it that Lucius Malfoy always seemed to know things the rest of the wizarding world didn't? She silently raged at the unfairness of it all. No matter how many books she read or how much research she did, she'd always be a step behind if the pure-blood families insisted on keeping all their knowledge to themselves.

"This certainly makes a strong case for Crowley," Lucius was saying. "To get a gwyllgi in unnoticed and to know where to find her, when she'd be alone. He would need unrestricted access and Crowley could get that."

"All those things—the security would be controlled by my department," Harry confirmed.

Lucius nodded. "Do you still wish to return to work, Miss Granger?" He was smiling at her, gloating. She wanted nothing more than to dump that glass of firewhiskey over his head. "I trust you understand now why I thought it best you stay away."

"You might have told me that before," she said.

"You would not have listened." And he was probably right, she admitted. She still didn't want to give up her job, but that didn't excuse him deliberately withholding information. "So, Miss Granger will take a leave of absence from her work."

"Wait, just a—"

"Did we not just go over this?" he snapped, irritation and exasperation in his voice. There was that threat in his eyes again, the barely concealed anger.

"He's right, Hermione. It's not safe for you," Harry said. That comment annoyed her a lot more than it normally would have, because Harry had once again fallen in line behind Malfoy. The two were so often in agreement, she was starting to wonder where Harry finished and Malfoy began.

"Fine. A _brief_ leave of absence," she conceded. "And you both better work quickly." She looked from Lucius to Harry. Harry looked anxious, but Lucius had a self-satisfied smile on his face. She wondered, not for the first time, just what was behind that smile.

* * *

Harry assigned her a 24-hour rotation of Aurors after that night. He was also being much more cautious about who he assigned—only the Aurors he knew personally and had worked with were allowed near her. Today, she was once again sharing the house with Robbie Wilkes.

It didn't do much to distract her from her current thoughts. Ron hadn't contacted her after the party. He hadn't even waited to see if she was all right before he left. She had asked Harry about him as they were leaving Malfoy Manor. "You know he can't stand these things. He couldn't wait to get out of there," Harry had told her. She was more than a little perturbed that Ron didn't feel protective enough of her to even protest.

Harry sent her an owl around noon that relayed vaguely to her that something had happened and it concerned her case. He would be coming by later with Lucius Malfoy as it involved him. There were several apologies included in the letter, but with Harry's grammar she could barely make out what he was trying to apologise for. It didn't matter anyway. She was becoming resigned to the idea that she would have to see Malfoy on a regular basis until this thing was resolved, especially since Harry insisted on working with him.

Although she didn't regret that they had his assistance on the case. Harry would likely never have thought to investigate his own Assistant Head. And, she admitted grudgingly, Malfoy did have a lot more insight into the way pure-bloods thought and acted, which was particularly helpful when those thoughts and actions were illogical.

She spent the day wrapping up her assignments from work, so she could ask Charlie for another leave. This was definitely not helping her career. Even with her status as war heroine and flawless reputation, she was going to have a hard time applying for advanced positions if she was constantly having to leave work.

She was about to take a break for supper around six o' clock when she saw Wilkes standing in the main hallway. It was strange; partly because his normal position was lounging on the living room sofa, and particularly because he was standing rigid and clutching an ornate box in his hands. He looked up when she approached, but didn't say a word.

"Wilkes, what is it?"

But he just stood there staring at her as if he were lost in thought. She looked at the package in his hand.

"Is that for me?"

He nodded. Something about the stiffness of his movements, the lack of easy conversation that he usually had, made her hesitate. She drew her wand.

But it was too late.

He opened the box.

Black smoke rolled out in undulating waves, bringing with it the smell of sulphur that assailed her senses. Instinctively, she covered her nose and held her breath. She cast silent spells to dissipate the smoke, but it continued to fill the room.

Something more solid was rising from the box.

It rose shrieking to the ceiling, like a demon breaking out of Hell, growing in size even as it emerged. Large bat-like wings sprung from its back, claws extended from its hands. It turned in one lissom movement to look back at her, eyes dripping blood.

She couldn't move. Her body wouldn't respond to her frantic demands. She was frozen, staring up at it, waiting for it to descend upon her with fangs extended.

She heard the door slam open. Down the hall, she could see Harry running towards her, screaming curses and waving his wand. Malfoy moved silently behind him, black robes billowing out like a Dementor.

She couldn't move. They wouldn't get to her in time.

Red lights were shooting above her head. The bat-like thing moved like rippling water, dodging the spells in mid-air. Harry was screaming her name. It began to descend.

Black clouded her vision as strong arms grasped her. For a split-second, she found herself able to move again. She was being crushed to Malfoy's chest, his robes sweeping around her, enveloping her like a protective shell. And then she felt the familiar pull of Apparition.

With a crack, they were gone.


	8. Unspoken Words

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 8 - Unspoken Words**

**.**

Sandalwood and bergamot.

Her head was spinning, her mind reaching for solid ground and failing, and the only thing she could grasp was the strangely familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot.

Reality came flooding back to her with the force of a bludger. Her face was being pressed into the fabric of Lucius Malfoy's waistcoat and his arms were wrapped around her like iron bands, holding her upright.

She tried to pull away, began twisting and pushing to break his hold, which seemed to grow tighter the more she struggled. He suddenly pushed her away from him and Hermione dropped to the ground with a thud.

They were in the middle of an unfamiliar parlour room, elegantly decorated with ornate, gilded chairs, intricate patterned carpets, and embroidered draperies. These were certainly not the shabby furnishings of 12 Grimmauld Place. She rose to her feet, cradling her bruised elbow as she looked up at him.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"Merely saved your life, Miss Granger," he sneered. "I should think you'd be a little more grateful."

"Grateful! After what you've done? Where are we?"

"One of my many homes. We're still in England. I haven't taken you that far."

She looked at him incredulously. "Why?"

"Because you were about to be devoured by a harpy."

"I meant why _here_?"

"I had only a moment to consider and it was the safest place I could think of."

Safest for him, maybe. She didn't know how far they had come but she hoped it wasn't beyond her range. She turned on the spot and attempted to Apparate.

When nothing happened, she threw a furious glare at Malfoy.

"Anti-Disapparition Jinx," he supplied. "No one can Apparate in or out."

"Then how did you do it? A portkey?" No, she corrected herself silently. He had definitely used Apparition. More pure-blood secrets?

Malfoy merely smiled.

"Take me back!"

"No."

"I'm not asking. You have to take me back!" She pointed her wand at him.

And there was that look again, grey eyes flashing from calm to storm, rigid lines set in his mouth. She had always prided herself on being able to deal with Harry's anger, but Malfoy was a different creature entirely. "I thought we had established that your idle threats were not enough to persuade me."

"They won't be idle if you don't take me back!"

"Miss Granger, you are entirely too reckless for your own good. My good standing with Mr Potter is dependent upon your remaining alive and I have no intention of jeopardizing that for your childish demands. Do you really think that placing yourself in danger is going to help anyone?"

She felt an embarrassed blush creep over her cheeks. "Does Harry know we're here?"

"Not yet."

He hadn't taken his eyes from her and his gaze made her unsettled. She pushed past him and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. He wasn't following her. The parlour room led out into a long hallway, which led easily to a large front door. It was shut tight, with no door lock that she could see. But she had expected that.

"_Alohomora_." The door stayed shut. "_Confringo!_" The second spell bounced off the door, barely missing her head as she dodged it, and glanced off the walls before dissipating.

"Satisfied?" Malfoy was standing behind her, observing her with a smile and his head cocked to the side. "Simple spells aren't enough to overcome the wards on this house. It is a veritable fortress."

She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest defensively. He wouldn't hurt her, she told herself. Harry knew she was with him. If anything happened to her, he'd be thrown in Azkaban, and nothing would keep him out this time. "I want to leave."

"I think we've established why you can't. You'll wait here while I find Mr Potter."

"I—"

He silenced her with a glare. "Patience, Miss Granger. I'll return shortly."

"No, wait!" But with a quick wave of his wand, he had Disapparated.

She was alone now. The house was deathly silent.

Her mind turned to Harry. He was still back at the house with that thing. What if it killed him? Would Malfoy come back for her? Would he tell anyone else she was here?

Hermione didn't waste time in trying to find another exit. She explored the house, tried every door, pulled on every window shutter. But her curses and jinxes only ricocheted off the walls or dissipated into nothingness. Even her Patronus was unable to penetrate the windows. Malfoy was true to his word. The house was locked up tight and neither physical nor magical force would move it.

She ended her search on the upper level at the top of the stairs, looking down at the heavy front door without a lock; a contradiction that offered an escape but refused to grant it.

She slammed her hands against the wall in frustration, fighting back angry tears. Well, this was proof now, wasn't it? He'd just kidnapped her right under Harry's nose. There was no denying it.

But the more logical part of her brain refused to agree. She had been in danger. Wherever she was now, her life was under no immediate threat. She was loathe to admit it, but he had, in fact, saved her life.

There was a sharp crack behind her and she spun, hoping to see Harry standing there. Instead, there was a tiny Elf.

"Miss was calling for Tully?"

"No, I—" She stopped herself. House-Elfs were able to get past wizard Anti-Apparition wards. Maybe she could convince this one to take her back to Grimmauld Place. "Yes, Tully, I did call for you."

The Elf's face brightened into a wide smile. "What can Tully do for miss?"

"Mr Malfoy had to leave in a rush, but I need to get back to my friend's house. Could you Apparate me there? I'd hate to trouble him."

"Oh no, miss!" The Elf hit herself in the head. "Miss cannot leave! Tully is sorry! Tully cannot do what miss asks!" She ran to the wall and began beating her head against it.

Hermione winced with each thump. "No, Tully, don't! It's OK. Just don't do that. There's something else you can do for me."

The Elf stopped abruptly and ran back to her. "What can Tully do?"

"Where are we?" she asked. "I can't open any of the shutters."

"We's is in the countryside. This house is Master's country home."

"But where exactly in England are we?"

"Tully does not know." The Elf trembled, as if she were preparing to hit herself again. "Tully is sorry—"

"No! Tully, just-just get me something to eat, OK?"

The Elf nodded happily and disappeared.

Hermione sighed in relief. She felt marginally better that someone was here with her, even if it was only a House-Elf. That Elf was a possible way out. She just needed to somehow convince it to Apparate her out. That only left her with the mystery of where exactly Malfoy had taken her. Were there any other people around?

It struck her then that there didn't seem to be any portraits in the house. Malfoy Manor had screamed its disapproval of her, but here she hadn't heard a sound. It was odd. She had never been in a wizarding house without portraits. And certainly a family as rich as the Malfoy's should have had several to illustrate their distinguished lineage. Essential for bragging to visitors, she smirked to herself. What type of house was this that had no portraits and heavy wards?

The Elf reappeared a few moments later with sandwiches and tea. She ate quietly, willing herself to be patient as she waited.

It was three hours later when she heard the familiar crack of Apparition coming from below. She raced down the stairs to find Harry standing there with Malfoy. He turned to her, his face drawn and haunted, and gathered her in a tight hug.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine."

He seemed to check her over to be sure, then released her and turned to the man behind him. "Malfoy, a word," Harry said sharply. "Stay here," he added to Hermione before she could say anything. She would have argued, but the obvious tension in his manner stopped her.

Lucius nodded and followed Harry into a small room and closed the door. Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. Harry had kept her involved in everything concerning the case thus far, why was she suddenly being excluded? She was about to barge in and insist he tell her everything—it was her life, after all—but a moment later she heard the faint rustle of a Muffliato spell and reconsidered. People often revealed much more when they believed they were speaking privately. She pointed her wand at herself and whispered a quick incantation. The white noise of Harry's spell dissipated like waves rolling back to the sea. She put her ear to the door and listened.

"You should have told me before you did it!" It was Harry's voice. She heard a rustle of robes.

"I hardly had an opportunity to discuss it with you." Malfoy now. "Would you have preferred that I left her there?"

"Of course not!"

"You saw fit to move her to a safehouse. I assumed you would condone my actions when that safety became compromised."

"Malfoy—"

"Potter, do not berate me for saving Miss Granger's life. I only did what I thought necessary."

"I've had enough of your power plays, Malfoy!" Harry was yelling now. She could hear the strain in his voice and the thump of his feet as he crossed the room. "I've tolerated it again and again, but now you've gone too far! You were gone for half an hour, without Auror approval—"

"To save your dear friend's life—"

"That's not an excuse! You took her to an unknown location with no clearance—"

"I took her to the safest place I knew."

"You're only allowed out under Auror supervision—"

"Do you have any idea how impossible it is living under these conditions?" Malfoy spat. "On a Ministry leash that doesn't even extend past my front porch?"

"Do you have any idea how close you were to being thrown in Azkaban?" Harry returned.

"How could I ever forget, Potter, when you so kindly remind me at every opportunity? If you were so convinced I belonged there, then why not let them have me?"

"If you're really so eager to go back, that can be arranged." There was a pause, and then, "What does it matter anyway? It's already done. You agreed to this."

"I traded one prison for another." His voice was bitter and Hermione thought she could sense a measure of regret in it.

No one spoke for several long minutes. She wasn't sure what to make of this information. Had Malfoy offered to work with Harry or was he being forced to by the Ministry?

Harry's voice broke her from her thoughts. "I'll need to move her somewhere else."

"Where did you have in mind?"

"I don't know yet. The Weasleys' maybe—"

"Brilliant. He'll have an entire line of Weasleys to work through."

"That's not—no! I'll find somewhere safe." She was silently glad for that. Her conscience would never allow her to put the Weasleys in danger. Or maybe that was just an excuse for not wanting to see Ron when she wasn't even sure they had a relationship anymore. "This house – is it secure?" Harry asked.

"The Dark Lord himself would not have been able to break in."

"Can she stay here? Just for a few days, until I find someplace better."

"This house is at your disposal. The Malfoys have not used it in many years and, in any case, I don't actually own it anymore."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Don't mock me, Potter. I assure you I have not forgotten the mistakes I've made or my new station in life."

There was a strained silence, then, "I'll send over a new Auror in the morning."

"I would advise you not to assign any more Aurors."

"I have to. I can't leave her here unprotected."

"Miss Granger's safety was compromised because of your unending rotation of Aurors. The fewer people who know where she is, the better. There is no way to track her here and this house is heavily warded. She doesn't need more protection."

"But we're the only people who know where she is. What if something were to happen to her while I'm gone?"

"There's an Elf that serves this house. It can Apparate her out if need be."

"She won't agree to this," Harry pointed out.

"It's not whether or not she'll agree to it, it's whether you will. This is _your_ case, Potter, as you've seen fit to inform me time and time again."

She was listening so intently, she had to stop and remind herself that they were talking about her and Harry's suggestion was most definitely not a welcome one. Even if Malfoy didn't actually own it anymore (and what was that about, she asked herself), it was still a Malfoy house. She couldn't stay here. It seemed wrong somehow.

"What about you?" It was Harry's voice. The question made her sit up and take notice. What about Malfoy?

"As ever, my life is in your hands, Mr Potter."

"You don't seem very concerned."

"It wouldn't be the first time there have been threats on my life. Truth be told, I expected it to come sooner."

"That doesn't make it any less serious. He got past the gate."

"Not an impossible feat."

"But not an easy one."

"Then what do you suggest? As it is, I cannot Apparate from my home, thanks to the Ministry's wards. I suppose I shall take the Muggle defence and run if the murderer makes his appearance. Let us hope he is older than I and with a poor constitution." There was a note of humour in his voice. Was Malfoy making a joke?

"That's not funny."

"I know it. Narcissa was very upset about the whole incident. It took quite a few _Scourgifies_ to clean the blood off the door."

So someone was dead? And apparently on Malfoy's doorstep? It couldn't be Draco. She expected he would be a lot less contained if it were.

"Look, I'll lift the wards temporarily. But that still doesn't mean you can Apparate out whenever you feel like it," Harry added quickly.

"Lengthening the leash, are we?"

"Malfoy," Harry warned. "You can leave if you need to. Only if you need to or with my permission."

"How kind, Potter."

"Don't push it, Malfoy. I'll still need to convince the Ministry you can be trusted not to run."

"I assure you, I have not spent all this time trying to rebuild my reputation only to abandon it for the chance to live as a fugitive. Now, I believe you should inform Miss Granger of her new arrangements."

"It would be easier if you weren't here."

"Certainly. Tully can escort you when you wish to leave. I shall return to the Manor." He stopped. "With your permission, of course."

"Go, Malfoy."

There was a sharp crack and Hermione let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Instantly, she backed away from the door and pretended to be waiting patiently for Harry to emerge.

She was preparing her argument in her head, all the reasons why she couldn't stay here, but when he opened the door, and the look in his eyes was tired and haunted, she forgot everything she wanted to say. He stepped back and she followed him into the room.

"Malfoy's gone," Harry said. "I'm sorry. He won't pull another stunt like that again." He paused and looked her over. "But at least you're safe."

"What happened?"

"Wilkes was under an Imperius Curse, as far as we can tell."

"As far as you can—"

"He's dead."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"I would have been here sooner," Harry continued, "but we had to take care of the body." She could see his chest heaving as he said it. "I didn't think that he'd—after the War, I mean, I suppose we all thought—"

He dropped into a chair and held his head in his hands. "I had to tell his family. And they kept looking at me, like it was my fault, and I couldn't tell them that it wasn't because it was really, because I put him there and I was responsible for him."

He was rambling. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. "Harry, don't." She could feel him trembling beneath her, his arms clutched around her waist, his grip so tight as if he were holding onto her as a lifeline. Her sleeves were growing damp.

"Wilkes is dead," Harry muttered, his voice breaking on the last word. "And it could have been you. It was supposed to be you. In my own bloody house and I couldn't have stopped it. If Malfoy hadn't got you out of there—"

"But he did, Harry. I'm fine."

He didn't say anything, but she could almost hear his unspoken thoughts. _"But I couldn't do anything."_ She knew he felt it had been his responsibility to save her and there was nothing she could do to change that.

Harry seemed to be trying to compose himself, so she released him and sat back on the floor, legs crossed, and waited.

He finally broke the silence. "Do you still suspect him?" She didn't have to ask who he meant.

"No," she admitted. "I still think he's a right bastard who belongs in Azkaban, but, no, I don't."

"Look, Hermione, can you stay here? At least for a few days until I find somewhere else? It's the safest place—"

"Harry, no."

"Hermione, please—"

"No! We'll just need to find someplace—"

"I can't deal with this right now!" The sharpness in his tone made her jump, but she quickly composed herself. He was much too on edge to be pushed right now and she knew from experience that arguing with Harry only made him more stubborn. And he didn't need to argue with her right now. He was already being haunted by his own guilt without her adding to it.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow," she suggested, and Harry nodded gratefully. "Have you eaten anything? I'll ask Tully to get us some tea."

Harry offered her a tired smiled so she went ahead. In a moment, Tully arrived with tea and snacks. Hermione pushed at him to eat, while Harry made an obvious but weak effort. He sat on the floor next to her, leaning against the armchair, the way they always had in between summers at Hogwarts. It was strange to think they wouldn't be returning this year.

She kept his mind off of Wilkes, by asking him for updates and what everyone was doing. Ever since this ordeal had started, she'd been unable to spend much time with her friends and she was starting to feel a bit isolated. Harry, unfortunately, didn't know much either. His constant working and odd hours had kept him from seeing anyone for several weeks.

Hermione noted the exhaustion on his face. It'd been obvious for awhile now that he was overworked and she'd hesitated on lecturing him about it—she knew how much he and Ron hated her lectures—but if no one else was going to tell him then she certainly would.

"Harry, when was the last time you took a day off?"

He stared at her blankly.

"I thought so. It's starting to show, you know. You can't go on like this."

"I know. It's just for now—"

"That's what you said the last time."

"I know. It's just…" He didn't have an end for that sentence.

"Why are you working so much? I didn't think the Ministry pushed its new Aurors like this. It's ridiculous! Aren't there Labour laws to prevent this sort of thing? It's the Ministry, for Merlin's sake—"

Harry was holding up his hands in surrender and she shut her mouth and looked away. "It's not just that. I—I got promoted. Did Ron tell you? Oh no, of course not. Sorry, I didn't think."

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Harry, you've only been working a few months. How did you get promoted already?"

"The Ministry was short on Aurors and they kept pushing me to take this position, right from the day I joined. They said it was good for people to see me working in Magical Law Enforcement, and that it would help rebuild morale in the department. Don't look at me like that. You know I don't like using my name. I just thought it would be a good thing. I thought it would help."

She nodded and let him continue.

"I reckoned I could do it, you know? After all the things we'd done, running from the Snatchers, fighting Death Eaters. I reckoned it couldn't be harder than that. I don't know what happened. It was just different from what I thought it'd be. It was all paperwork and investigations and evidence and cases. And then the hours were just never-ending. I've been trying to learn and work at the same time and I can barely keep up. It's like people expected me to just know everything already and I didn't. And I can't just tell them now that I want to stop because I don't know what I'm doing." He stopped and looked at the floor. "And, obviously, I don't."

"Harry, that wasn't your fault. You couldn't have guarded Wilkes against the Imperius Curse. You don't even know when it happened."

"No, but I could have been smarter about it."

"How?"

"I could have prepared for something like this. How many people were Imperiused during the War? I knew it was a danger."

"And no one knew then when it happened, either. Harry, you're being too hard on yourself. You can't prepare for everything."

"Are you afraid? That I'm taking your case?"

The question almost caught her off guard. "Of course, not. I wouldn't have anyone else do it." Somehow, she wasn't sure if her words were a comfort to him or another burden.

The night wore on with aimless talk and Hermione began yawning and leaning heavily against Harry's shoulder. Her mind begged for sleep, but she didn't want him to forget. She didn't want to be left behind. "Harry, don't leave me here," she whispered.

He grasped her hand in his as silent reassurance.

When she awoke in the morning, Harry was gone.


	9. Sanctum

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 9 – Sanctum**

**.**

Hermione was livid. Harry had left her. He knew she didn't want to stay and he'd just up and run.

She attempted to Apparate before remembering that she couldn't do that here. Instead, she called for the House-Elf, who dutifully appeared with a loud crack.

"Would Miss like breakfast? Tully has prepared a lovely breakfast—"

"I want Harry Potter." Her words were harsh and she almost regretted it as the Elf trembled before her.

"Tully cannot. Tully only serves Master Malfoy."

"Then tell Malfoy to get him!" Tully was cowering now, her ears dropping low and her hands wringing the dishtowel that she wore. In the next second, she rethought this decision, but Tully was already gone. There was nothing to be done about it. She'd have to go through Malfoy to get to Harry.

Tully returned minutes later, vanishing just as quickly as she had come, but it wasn't Harry that she had brought. Draco took a moment to orient himself before turning to Hermione and setting into her. "What is it now, Granger? Father said you were harassing our House-Elf."

"I was not!" she blurted out, aware that she sounded childish, and yet not caring one bit. She would not stand for Draco Malfoy, of all people, to accuse her of abusing House-Elves.

"Yeah, that's why she was crying about how nasty Miss Granger was and had to go iron her hands—"

"Don't you dare accuse me of—"

"That's right, Granger. You're no better than the rest of us." Draco was looking smug.

"Is that what this is about?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms nonchalantly. "Pulling me down to your level? Malfoy, you're pathetic." A slight blush of red crept over his cheeks. She hoped he didn't notice her own. She didn't usually let Malfoy get under her skin like this, especially when his attempts were so obvious, but she was more on edge than usual. "What are you doing here, anyway? I asked for Harry or your father—"

"Father can't leave the Manor without an Auror, if you hadn't noticed. And Potter, well, you'll have to wait until he returns to the Ministry."

"So I get you. Lucky me," Hermione concluded, sarcasm dripping on every word.

Draco made a mock bow.

"Fine then. I'm not agreeing to this arrangement. Take me home." She was using that same bossy tone that Ron's stubbornness always brought out in her.

"I can't do that," Draco said. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "They won't let you leave. It's already been decided."

"Decided by whom?" Her voice was becoming shrill with exasperation. "And how did you—"

"Like I said, I hear things." He paused, as if waiting for her to ask him something. He was obviously revelling in having access to information that she didn't. Like a street urchin scrabbling for bits. "Potter showed up at the Manor this morning. They think this is the safest place, especially considering… well, you know what happened at the Manor, right?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Our House-Elf was murdered." He watched her closely. "The body was charmed to stick on the front door, the entrails pulled out in a star, and the blood painted all over the entrance."

Hermione cringed at the thought.

"We think it's a message."

"About your treatment of House-Elves?" she asked cheekily.

"About you. Every pure-blood in Britain knows my father is supporting Muggle-borns now. Some are calling him a blood traitor."

"Well, that's what he is, isn't he? By your own definition? You'll excuse me if I don't feel sympathetic."

"He's being threatened because of you!" Draco snapped.

"I never asked him to do this!" Hermione shot back. "I don't even want his help! If it's such a problem, then he can walk away right now. I certainly wouldn't object."

"He can't do that. He promised Potter to protect you."

"I don't give a damn about his promises!"

"Of course. I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand. Breaking a promise is nothing to Muggles, but a wizard's word is his bond."

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy. We—they are not that different from us!"

"Not that different from _you_, you mean," he said, gloating at her slip of the tongue.

She sighed in exasperation. "Did you just come here to argue with me?"

"No. You just make it far too easy."

"Malfoy, really, the war is over. It's time to move on. These silly school rivalries need to stop."

"Nothing's over." His face looked dark, bitter. "Or did you forget why you're here?"

"Speaking of which—"

"No." He seemed to be enjoying this shred of power over her altogether way too much for Hermione's liking. He took his time seating himself in an armchair and crossing his legs.

"I can't imagine you like me being in your house," she said, trying a different approach. "I'm sure we can find somewhere else that's safe enough."

"You don't realise where you are, do you?"

"Besides being in a Death Eater's house to escape a pure-blood fanatic? No, the irony hasn't escaped me."

He sneered at her. "Not that. This house has been in the Malfoy family for centuries, under a Fidelius charm that's been passed down for generations, and protection wards crafted by the strongest wizards of an age. It's a fortress—a Wizard's Sanctum. Even if the spell were broken, no one would be able to enter here. There is no safer place in England. He's breaking tradition by bringing a—by bringing you here. Not that I would expect _you_ to know these things," he added.

"I'm flattered," Hermione said, with a cocked brow.

"You should be."

She quietly muttered her irritation under her breath.

"Which is why," he continued, "you should stay put. Don't think we like you being here anymore than you do, but the last thing wizarding society needs is a well-known Muggle-born being murdered by a pure-blood."

And by wizarding society, he meant pure-blood society, by which, he really meant himself. She hadn't considered that angle, but, of course, the Malfoys had. They had an invested interest in keeping her alive. Hell, she had an invested interest in keeping herself alive.

This place was safe. Not ideal, but safe.

And she was fighting a losing battle. Harry wouldn't risk her safety, he felt completely responsible for her. He'd be devastated if she were harmed.

Draco was watching her over steepled fingers as he slouched in the chair. Only a few months ago, they had been on opposite sides of a war. Now he was an ally, and currently her sole link to the outside. She was fidgeting nervously, before she broke the silence between them.

"I won't be locked up here and ignored. I want to know what's happening outside and I want to be kept up to date on the case."

He nodded, taken aback by her sudden change of pace.

"I'll need my clothes, my books—"

"Everything you need has already been brought from Potter's house."

She seethed inwardly at this. Harry had already decided she'd stay here, without looking for her consent. She was tempted to fight back, but it was too easy for him to avoid her if he wanted to. And she wanted—needed—him to come back, as much to let him know that his overprotective brotherly instincts weren't appreciated as for the simple desire for company. She didn't like being alone here. It made her insecure. But Harry could be stubborn sometimes, and the more she pushed, the more he'd push back.

Hermione looked around, mentally going over whether she'd covered everything, unconsciously grasping for something else to settle on before she let him go. Her eyes stopped on Draco, who watched her expectantly.

"What am I supposed to do here?" she asked finally.

Draco shrugged. "Stay alive."

* * *

Draco finally left, refusing to say when he'd return or when anyone else would come for her. She felt his absence sharply when he Disapparated, and was immediately furious with herself for even caring that her old enemy was not around. She had never been bothered by being alone, she told herself, and now would not be any different.

Shortly afterwards, Hermione had a delighted Tully show her to her room. It was not particularly large or as large as she would have assumed for the Malfoys. It was decorated with a down-to-earth country elegance and a distinctly feminine touch. White-painted wood made up the bedframe and the armoire, while the bedspread and matching armchair were covered in a delicate shade of blue with winding yellow flowers. There was a bathroom attached, with a porcelain freestanding bathtub and a large assortment of feminine toiletries. She wondered briefly if this was where they put all their female guests, but as she wandered towards the next door, she found herself in a room containing a child's bed and a crib, with toys lining the shelves. A nursery. Pure-blood families didn't keep nannies. She spun back to the first room she'd entered.

This room must be for the lady of the house.

She had half expected to be put with the House-Elf for fear she might contaminate something with her presence.

Which brought her back to the simple fact that she was staying in a Death Eater's home, essentially under his protection. There was something very wrong with that thought. And yet it seemed foolish to worry about a thing like old prejudices when her life was currently at stake. What did it matter how Lucius Malfoy felt about her heritage or what he'd done in the past as long as he kept his distance and stayed in his place? It wasn't as if he were going to live here—it was just a place for her to stay and remain safe until Harry closed in on whatever pure-blood lunatic was hunting Muggle-borns.

Pure-blood lunatic… like the one that had crushed her hand while she begged for mercy at his feet? But it was a war. People acted differently. They concerned themselves with their own survival and to Hell with everyone else. She had uttered the Killing Curse once, when her own life was in danger. She hadn't regretted that.

He wasn't a good person, not by any stretch of the imagination, but that didn't make him incapable of doing good.

Harry believed in him.

Harry was occasionally stupid.

An hour later, after she'd bathed and refreshed herself, she set about accounting for her things and finding a fresh set of clothes to wear.

Something was missing. She looked through the drawers, the closets. There were nothing but robes. No trousers. No T-shirts. None of her Muggle clothing had been brought. She summoned Tully and was treated to stammering and a profusion of apologies that the Elf was unable to retrieve her clothes.

"M-Master hates Muggle things," she whispered, looking up at Hermione with wide, pleading eyes. Her dishtowel was stretched taught in her bony hands. "Tully could never bring them into the house. Tully would have to—to—"

She knew what came next and couldn't stomach the thought of causing the House-Elf to harm herself, so she gave in and dressed in her robes. It was ridiculous, really. Just because Lucius Malfoy didn't like Muggle clothing didn't mean she shouldn't wear it. It wasn't as if he had to see her in it.

Draco had been true to his word. All her other things from Harry's house had been brought here. Her books were placed in alphabetical order on the shelves, her notes and files from work were arranged in a neat pile. Even her small box of Bertie Bott's Jelly Beans was there.

Since Tully had been given permission, the Elf was finally able to open the window shutters and let light into the house, so Hermione settled herself on a chair by the window, with a large book in her hands. As far as she could see, there were fields of green surrounding the house, with large, old trees dotting the landscape. Not a single person was in sight.

Wizard's Sanctum. Sanctuary. A place of refuge. Shelter from danger.

So why did it feel like a prison?


	10. Knowledge

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 10 – Knowledge**

**.**

"Granger!"

Hermione awoke with a start, dropping the book she had been resting on her chest on the floor with a loud bang.

"Merlin, you sleep like the dead!" Draco ran a hand through his white-blond hair as if he were exhausted from the effort.

_Unlikely_, she thought. She'd merely dozed off while reading in the parlour room. Outside, the sun had almost set and the last reddish rays were shining through the window.

She reached to collect the book on the floor and jumped when he suddenly dropped several copies of The Daily Prophet onto the coffee table.

"Your updates from outside," he explained with an obnoxious smirk. She was almost grateful to see him, to see anyone really, because after three empty days of boredom and isolation she'd started to think they had forgotten about her. But she was hoping Harry would have come.

Hermione snatched up the papers and flipped through the pages quickly, almost devouring the information with her fingers, while she scanned for any interesting articles. It was the usual—praise for the new Minister of Magic, announcements of new policies, and there was one particularly scathing article about a pure-blood socialite who had dared to criticize the Law Enforcement Department's policy in investigating and detaining suspects. The editorial went on to decry the need for eternal vigilance and to strike down any anti-Muggle sentiments, alleging that this sort of thing would only lead them back to the troubles of the past. That was how it was referred to now: the "troubles of the past". As if it had been decades ago and not just a few months. The newspapers still wouldn't print Voldemort's name and danced around mention of what he had tried to do, as if eradicating Muggle-born wizards was an ugly truth no one wanted to admit to. Some people wanted to forget and some, who may have borne more responsibility, wanted to pretend it had never happened. Rather than a representation of powerful evil, "Voldemort" had become a dirty word no one wanted to say.

"And there's a letter." Draco handed her a rolled up piece of parchment that was mysteriously lacking a seal. "From Potter. He's sorry for running out, hopes you're OK, wants to know if you want anything—"

"Would it have killed you not to have read it first?"

Draco shrugged.

Hermione sighed.

She held the letter in her own hands and read it through eagerly, the sound of Harry's voice rising like an echo with each word. She missed him. And Ron. Even though she felt lost wondering where they stood with each other. The three of them together had given her strength to get through the more difficult times. She wished she had that now.

Hermione summoned a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and began scribbling words in response. "I want you to take this letter back to Harry," she told Draco.

"You're not writing a novel, are you?" he asked, rolling his eyes and looking bored.

"No," she said curtly. "I'm already done." She folded the letter neatly and handed it to him. "Please."

Draco took it slowly, picking up the letter between thumb and forefinger as if it were something distasteful. "Fine. " And then he smiled at her. It was a strange, awkward smile that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable.

She wanted him to go.

As if reading her thoughts, Draco nodded to her and Disapparated.

Her eyes settled on the empty place where he had been, and she saw, on the small table that had been behind him, a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and an empty cup of tea.

Just how long had he been there?

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her bedroom, rereading her copy of _A History of Goblins: Volume II_. It wasn't the most interesting book she'd ever read or even particularly well-written—the author had made several mistakes, she'd noticed, and she'd pencilled in the corrections—but she was running out of things to read.

She'd received a note from Draco two days ago that read, "Potter will come soon. DM". She wished it'd been a bit more specific—it had been two days already!—but the thought was a comfort. She was going mad with no one but the House-Elf for company. And she loved House-Elves, she told herself, but it seemed Dobby was quite the exception and it was very difficult making a companion out of someone whose only want in life was to serve you.

Goblin history was having a difficult time keeping her engaged, so she easily heard the distant pop of Apparition downstairs and the rustle of robes and heavy footsteps on the carpet. Her thought was immediate: Harry. After four days without human company, she leapt off the bed and raced downstairs to meet him.

But it was not Harry's smile that greeted her in the parlour room.

"You seem rather excited to see me, Miss Granger." Lucius Malfoy stood before the fireplace, a broad smile on his face that showed off perfect rows of white teeth.

"I thought you were Harry," she returned blandly.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"What are you doing here?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "I do own this house."

"I thought you were under house arrest."

"I am, but I advised Potter that it was necessary I pay you a visit. There are parts of this house only I can open for you. And I'm sure you are already running out of things to do."

This was true. While she enjoyed sitting and reading, she was becoming anxious by being deprived of any other activities. Looking outside the window had become a form of torture.

Hermione had also noticed while exploring the house that there were six doors which she couldn't open—three on the main floor and three on the second floor. Her innate curiosity, several failed spells and Tully's steadfast refusal to tell her anything, had left her wondering what lay behind those doors and what Malfoy was trying to hide from her.

But at the moment there was something else that had been pressing on her mind.

"The room that I'm staying in…"

"You don't like it?" He sounded slightly offended. "I assure you, only the finest—"

"No, it's not that," she said quickly. "It's just—it seems like it's not"—she searched for the word—"appropriate for a guest."

"This is a small house, as you've no doubt noticed, and it was not meant for entertaining. There are no guest rooms, so under the circumstances, I decided that that room was the most _appropriate_ for you."

"But it's—"

"Narcissa's room? Yes, it would be if she were here."

She furrowed her brow. "And that's not… a problem?"

"Do you think my wife might object to you using it? As I said, _I_ decided that room was the most appropriate. Now come." He bade her follow him with a quick gesture. "I think I have something that will interest you."

Lucius lead her from the parlour room and down the hall to a room that had previously been locked. He drew his wand at the door. "Listen carefully," he said, then whispered, "_volvere_" and tapped the door handle. The door fell open.

It was a library. And while it was not a particularly large room, every wall was lined floor to ceiling with books, save for a small section that had been cut away to make room for the window.

"I had Tully bring a few additional volumes from the Manor I thought you might enjoy." He brushed his hand over several books on one shelf, immediately drawing her eyes towards them. There was _Ancient Magical Properties of Dragon Reeds_, _House-Elf Magic, Arcturus' Advanced Potions,_ several books she had only ever heard of and yet others that sounded incredibly interesting and had her heart fluttering with anticipation. "There is, of course, a small laboratory for potion mixing I could open for you if you so wished it."

Hermione nodded dumbly.

Lucius selected a large crimson-bound volume entitled _Wizarding Heritage: Blood and Lineage_. "This one is particularly interesting and considered essential reading for most pure-blood children. Considering you have such strong feelings on the subject, I would like to hear your opinion on the book."

"So you can tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about—"

"No. I want to hear your opinion." He held out the book to her, but she refused to take it. "It's just a book, Miss Granger. It's not going to hurt you." He sighed heavily and placed it on a nearby table. "Read it at your leisure."

She watched him with suspicion—unwilling to accept what he was giving her, but unwilling to refuse at the same time. How could she refuse? He was offering her an incredible gift; access to the Malfoy library, even a small part, to some of the rarest and most powerful spellbooks in the wizarding world. She had always envied his knowledge and now he was handing some of it to her.

And it suddenly made the prospect of staying here much less intolerable. A few weeks with nothing but books for company? She had often joked with Harry that they could lock her in the library for the rest of her life and she'd be perfectly happy. She also didn't get the opportunity to do as much research as she would have liked while working, so this would be a welcome change and an opportunity she might never have again.

And what harm could it really do? It was just a book.

Lucius was pointing out other volumes he thought she'd be interested in as she went over to the book placed on the table and lifted it gently in her hands. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers and it creaked pleasantly as she opened it, letting the scent of old parchment tickle her nose. She could feel traces of magic from the pages. The book had a preserving charm on it. Even so, it appeared that had been a later addition as it must have already been quite old and used by the time it was done. The inside cover was signed with the name _D. Malfoy_ and the date _1820_.

She was still absorbed in turning the pages, when she felt his hand touch her cheek and the book was gently pulled from her grasp. It was like an electric shock, the smooth pads of his fingertips igniting a fire as they slid along the ridges of her scar. Instinctively, she pulled away, almost stumbling backwards to get away from him, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed.

"I hope you realise the longer those unsightly scars remain on your face, the less likely I'll be able to fix them."

"I don't need you to fix them," Hermione replied quickly. "I'm perfectly capable of finding the answer myself. And it's not as if it matters now, anyway. No one can see me here." She hadn't meant it to sound pitiable, but it did, and she regretted it instantly.

He examined her for a long moment and she felt her confidence melt under his gaze. And then he simply said, "I can see you."

Her breath caught in her throat. She was ready to protest, but he didn't follow that comment with anything, and, unwilling to pursue that avenue herself, she let it go. He turned from her to replace the book on the shelf and she restrained herself from sighing in relief. Part of her wanted to run from the room, because she felt altogether far too insecure and unsettled around him. But there was nowhere to run here and admitting that only gave him more power. No, she needed to stop feeding him her insecurities. And maybe provide him with a few of his own.

"The Ministry has seized your assets," she said.

She saw the sudden tension in his shoulders, and then, he deliberately relaxed, and turned to face her. "Did Potter tell you that?" He tried to appear indifferent, but she noted the strain in his voice and the slight sneer on his lips.

"No, I figured it out for myself."

"Very astute, Miss Granger. Listening at doors seems to be a special talent of yours. How very Slytherin."

"You lied to Harry. You told him you didn't own this house, but actually it's under a Fidelius Charm, which means they can't take it from you until the charm is removed. And I'm guessing it's not even listed under whatever properties you've admitted to having to the Ministry."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I must have forgotten that detail."

"I doubt that."

Lucius smiled. "Such a clever girl. But, in reality, it does me little good. What use is this house except as a refuge? In any case, what did you expect me to do? I couldn't give it up, even if I wanted to. The magic is that strong."

"That doesn't excuse—"

"You believe I lied about it? I _can't_ give up the secret. Or do you think the Ministry should eliminate the entire Malfoy line just to acquire this house? I'm sure you'd agree that's a bit extreme."

"You could have admitted it to Harry," she returned. "He's already been here, so it wouldn't make any difference."

He looked away, smiling to himself as if he were laughing at some private joke. "Ah, dear Miss Granger, you have me at a disadvantage. I'm sure you see some devious plot forming, but if you will allow me my bit of foolishness? The Ministry has, indeed, seized everything I own and frozen my vault. Except, of course, for when they want to help themselves to it," he added bitterly. "'Compensation for war crimes', they claim. It is only by Mr Potter's intervention that my family has not been thrown out of the Manor. But I am a vain man. I wanted to keep this house to myself. As it couldn't be taken, I did not see the harm in neglecting to mention it."

"So much for the Malfoy fortune," Hermione quipped.

"I don't believe everything is lost, as of yet."

"Not yet," she said slowly. She let the unspoken words hang in the air. _Until Harry learned of it. _She could see his jaw set and the way his eyes darkened—this was definitely a sore spot for him. She smiled to herself in smug satisfaction.

"As I recall, you are benefitting from my little deceit. Really, Miss Granger, I thought you of all people would appreciate access to my library." He waited for her to answer, and when she didn't, he continued, "But if that is not the case, perhaps I should rescind my offer?"

Hermione bit her lip in annoyance and looked away. He knew her well enough to know that she did appreciate the library, probably more than anyone. But that didn't explain why he would offer it to her. "Why?" she asked.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "Why what? I think you could stand to be a bit more articulate."

"Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

"Your kind regard, obviously," he drawled. Her face was a mask of scepticism, so he continued, "Am I so thoroughly evil that I am incapable of offering you something at no expense to myself?"

"Not incapable. Just unlikely."

"Very well then, Miss Granger, let me make myself perfectly clear. I am attempting to rebuild my reputation and find a place for myself and my family in this new world. And if that means putting aside notions of blood purity and working with Muggle-borns, I have no objections to doing that. Despite what you may think, I do not have any particular dislike of you."

"Really? Because it seems you had a great dislike of me not so long ago. Now, suddenly, my dirty blood isn't a problem for you?" Did it really mean that little to him? It was almost horrific to think that just a few months ago he had been willing to kill her for something that he could toss aside when it became inconvenient.

"No, it isn't," Lucius said simply.

"How can you just—"

"Because I am a practical man and because I believe," he continued, stepping closer, "that we could be of great help to one another."

Hermione stepped back, trying to maintain the distance between them, but for every backward step she took, he took another one forward, until she felt a shelf of books against her shoulders.

"You should stop trying to run from me, Miss Granger."

"I'm not running—"

His hand shot out and she jumped as it hit the shelf beside her head. "No, you're not."

"Mr Malfoy—"

He shushed her with a finger to her lips, and her heart fluttered madly in response. _Don't react_, she told herself firmly. _It's what he wants._

"We rarely get a chance to talk privately, don't you think?"

"That's because we have nothing to talk about," she returned sharply. She crossed her arms over her chest, her emotions flitting between fear and anger. His body language was disturbing her. She had become accustomed to his cool, controlled mannerisms, his deliberate attempts to keep her off-balance, but something was different this time. There was a slight tremble to his movements.

Lucius moved to touch her face and she slapped his hand away.

"I'm not playing your games. "

"Of course not," he mused. He was looking down at her with eyes that seemed brightly lit from within. "But I'm not playing games." He reached towards her again and when she moved to stop him, he grabbed her wrist and held it. "And you shouldn't be either."

"Stop it," she said quietly, attempting to yank her wrist from his grasp and failing.

He laughed, shaking his head so that wisps of blond hair danced around his shoulders. "Stop what, Miss Granger? I can't fathom what has you so upset."

She reached for her wand with her free hand and he grabbed that wrist too before she could reach it. "You're not going to threaten to hex me again, are you? As much as I admire your spirit, it's becoming tiresome." He had drawn closer while she struggled to free herself. She could smell his cologne, feel his breath on her face and his heart—she could swear it was beating as fast as her own.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, obvious disgust dripping in her tone. His thumb had begun absently stroking the inside of her wrist. The movement was less threatening, but so much more intimate.

A peculiar expression crossed his features, as if he'd realised something he wasn't happy about. "You—" he began. He snarled and released her with a force that would have shoved her back if she hadn't already been against the bookshelf.

She watched him. He seemed to be considering, calculating, and then he looked at her as if she'd done something offensive to him. It was gone almost as quickly as it came. A moment later, his face was a charming mask of cool elegance.

"I must return to the Manor," he said simply. With a sweep of his wand, he Disapparated.

Hermione was left standing in the library, feeling absolutely lost in a room full of knowledge.


	11. The Crowleys

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews. All feedback is appreciated. :)

**.**

**Chapter 11 – The Crowleys**

**.**

Something had changed.

The thought had Hermione more on edge than ever. She couldn't forget the look Malfoy had given her—the one that seemed to burn right through her, blaming her for some grievous personal offence.

She brushed the memory away angrily as she flipped through The Daily Prophet, almost tearing the pages in the process. He had no right to be angry with her and she certainly wasn't going to feel guilty over some imagined offence. She'd been less than polite with him, true, but considering the circumstances, she could hardly be blamed for that.

And she knew his games—his deliberate attempts to provoke her, play on her fears and past trauma, his subtle insults—known and been unable to stop herself from reacting to them. He was good at manipulating her emotions, she'd give him that. It was brilliant, when she thought about it objectively. She couldn't think clearly when he came too near and then she was constantly giving away things he could use against her.

Her Gryffindor instinct to go head to head with him had been failing miserably. He was prepared for whatever she could throw at him or maybe it was just that she wasn't devious enough to win against him. Even her clumsy attempt to catch him in a lie had just left her feeling like a silly little girl and completely out of her league.

* * *

On Tuesday evening, Harry finally showed up with Lucius in tow. Hermione almost leapt into Harry's arms the moment she saw him, grateful to finally have a real ally by her side again. A week of dealing with both Malfoys had been wearing on her. Harry muttered apologies as he stroked her hair in that brotherly fashion he always took with her, each having become the sibling they'd never had.

Lucius stood beside him and huffed quietly to himself at their display of affection. She almost expected him to say something, to acknowledge what had happened the day before, but he remained cold and aloof, looking down his nose at her while that customary sneer played at his lips.

Of course. He was always on his best behaviour around Harry.

"I have more information for you," Harry said quietly. "Don't worry. We're working hard on getting you out of here. I know it's been tough. I'm sorry."

Lucius lead them to a previously locked room, comfortably equipped with large, cushioned armchairs and a delicately carved desk. It seemed to be the most ornate room in the house—the walls were covered in panelled oak and various pieces of fine art were displayed on stands, on the wall, and in glass cases.

Lucius promptly opened a hidden panel in the wall and reached inside. "I think it must still be here—ah, yes!" He removed a large glass bottle of amber liquid. "Tully!"

The Elf appeared instantly with three glasses on a tray and ice. She took the bottle from Lucius, busied herself preparing drinks, and vanished just as quickly when she was done.

"Firewhiskey, Mr Potter, Miss Granger? Fifty years old. Finest I have."

"I'm working," Harry muttered.

"I don't drink," Hermione said.

"Of course, not. I hope you won't mind if I do then."

Hermione watched him sit back in his chair and swirl the firewhiskey, lamplight glinting off the facets of the glass. She envied his ability to be comfortable in any situation. He was stripped of his wealth and power, working for a boy half his age, and yet still seemed to be in complete control of the situation.

"I believe Mr Potter has some important updates for you."

"Is it good news?" Hermione asked quickly. "Are you any closer?"

"Well, it's certainly news," Harry said. He unrolled the newspaper in his hand and laid it out before her. There, in large bold letters on the front page read, "MUGGLE-BORN WITCH MURDERED IN FRONT OF THE MINISTRY. AURORS BAFFLED." There was a picture below depicting several Aurors gathered together and glimpses of a woman's limp white arm laid out on the pavement. Hermione quickly scanned the article for information. The victim had been identified as Dulcina Redwood… she was Muggle-born and worked for the Ministry… the body had been viciously stabbed… Aurors suspected it was a revenge killing.

"He's getting impatient," Lucius said. "This was sloppy compared to his other victims."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"The other victims were neatly killed—throat slit, blood drained, eyes and heart removed, ancient runes carved into the chest. And the bodies were clearly _Scourgified_ before he left them." Hermione fought to conceal the look of horror on her face. "This girl was stabbed twelve times in a fit of rage and left in her own blood. Those are the actions of a man desperate, angry, and out of control."

"And arrogant," Harry added. "The body was left just outside the Ministry. He wanted it to be found."

"Why?"

"We think he's trying to make a point. He isn't happy that we've covered up the previous murders. He wants the wizarding world to know what he's done and that we can't stop him. And the fallout from this… Merlin, the Law Enforcement Department has already had over a hundred complaints. And we can't admit to knowing anything without tipping off Crowley that he's a suspect."

"There was a note," Lucius cut in.

Harry glared at him from across the desk.

"She should know," Lucius insisted.

"What did it say?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked down. "We managed to recover it before the newspapers got it, luckily. It was shoved inside her mouth." He reached into his robe and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Scrawled in large, messy print were the words, 'You can't hide her from me Potter.'

Hermione put a hand to her mouth and shook her head. Her heart was suddenly racing, despite her mind's cool assurance that she was perfectly safe. "Well, I suppose it's not—it's not a surprise... I knew he wouldn't give up so easily... but he can't possibly know that—"

"He must know, somehow, that you're no longer at my house at Grimmauld Place," Harry said. "But I'm certain he doesn't know you're here. No one knew where we were taking you. I didn't even know." He threw a bitter glance at Lucius, who returned it with a smile.

"Or he may have already checked every other… " She couldn't finish the sentence. What if he had found her parents? Where else might he have checked? Were all her friends now in danger?

"No," Harry said quickly. "They'd tell me if anything strange happened. And from the look of this, if he did, we'd know about it."

She fidgeted with her hands awkwardly. _You can't hide her from me…actions of a desperate, angry man.._ He couldn't reach her here. And he knew it. She was safe. As long as she stayed here, she was safe. Under Lucius Malfoy's "protection". She wanted to laugh.

"Is that all?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"We started investigating Marcus Crowley," Harry said. "It hasn't been easy though. If he finds out what we're doing, it could be a real problem for us. Even in the current… environment, investigating the Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is risky. He was appointed by Shacklebolt because he was trustworthy. If Kingsley finds out what we're doing and we don't have proof…"

"And so far?"

"We don't have anything to go on right now. He was a model student, never caused a problem, returned to England after school and was hired into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Other than what Draco's told us, we can't find any evidence that he ever supported Voldemort or that he's even holding onto any Dark Magic artefacts."

"They could be hidden at the Crowley ancestral home," Lucius suggested.

"He hasn't been there for weeks, as far as we know. We've been able to track the activity of his Floo and he doesn't seem to have a good relationship with his father anyway, so I don't imagine he would go there."

"They had a falling out years ago," Lucius said, looking at Hermione.

"What?" Harry asked, looking puzzled. "You didn't tell me that."

"Forgive me. I've just remembered it myself."

"Over what?" Hermione asked.

"A girl," Lucius said. "Young Marcus fell in love and became engaged to a half-blood."

"How tragic," Hermione remarked, her tone dripping sarcasm. "I suppose his father wouldn't allow him them to marry?"

"Well, yes, but that was only part of the problem. Aristos insulted the girl, told her she was not worthy of Marcus and that he would not allow her to sully their bloodline. She had too much pride to marry into a family where she wouldn't be accepted, so she broke off the engagement and refused to see him. We all had a good laugh about it at the time, but now, I suppose, it was quite awful for him."

"So your pure-blood prejudice drove them apart?"

"It wasn't _my_ pure-blood prejudice, Miss Granger," Lucius returned sharply. "I am hardly responsible for the way society behaves. Marcus' choice was looked down on by all his peers. There was a great deal of pressure on the couple to separate on both sides—the Crowleys may have prestige, but they were certainly not popular—and his father endured a great deal of ridicule for allowing it to go on as long as it did."

She knew they weren't directed at her, but she felt the sharp sting of his words. These weren't just the Crowleys' beliefs, they were his. "He ruined his son's happiness for his own reputation."

"It's not that simple. Marcus was the pride of his family, his first-born, his heir. As I've told you before, Claudius had always been a sickly child whereas Marcus was strong, intelligent, and charming. The perfect son. All Aristos' hopes for the future were pinned on him, so when he saw that being threatened, he reacted strongly. It may not have been right by your standards, Miss Granger, but he did what he thought was in the best interests of his family."

"But Marcus moved out of the Crowley family home after that, right?" Harry asked. "Couldn't he have married his girlfriend then?"

"No, Marcus didn't move out until some time later and by then, she was dead. I remember hearing about it. Terrible accident. She'd been working on a complex potion at home. It exploded and a shard of glass pierced her heart and killed her."

Hermione gasped. "Did he…?"

"I didn't think it at the time. No one suspected his family had anything to do with her death. It had been a good month or two after the break up, as I recall. Now, of course…"

"Do you remember her name?" Harry asked.

"Clarissa, I think it was. Clarissa Wilson."

"We'll look into it," Harry said.

"But if Marcus was in love with a half-blood, wouldn't that make him less likely to want to murder Muggle-borns?" Hermione asked. "He obviously wasn't that bothered by her blood status."

"Perhaps her rejection of him sent him over the edge? All I know is that after the incident, he never looked at a girl whose blood wasn't as pure as his own."

"That could have been coincidence."

"No. He was quite adamant afterwards that Clarissa had been a mistake he would not repeat."

"It's still quite a jump to go from one failed relationship to murdering Squibs and Muggle-borns. If he felt so strongly about blood status, why not join Voldemort's ranks? He could have been happily murdering anyone he wanted with endorsement and congratulations going around."

"Marcus may have shared our beliefs, but he was not willing to risk his job for it. Or perhaps he just saw what the rest of us could not—that the Dark Lord would eventually fail—and wished to distance himself from the anticipated downfall."

"Or perhaps it's too personal to involve anyone else," Harry finished quietly.

"Explain, Potter," Lucius said, quirking an eyebrow.

"The victims aren't random. They have meaning to him. All of them, even the Squibs, were all successful, intelligent women. He's resentful, for some reason, and he's taking it out on these women. And the way he murders them—it's deliberate, ritualistic. He needs to kill this way. I don't think he would have tolerated having someone else dictating how he works."

"Marcus Crowley would be taking orders every day in his job," Hermione said.

"Maybe he resents it? Maybe this is his way of acting out his frustration?"

"All very good theories," Lucius said, "but this hardly brings you closer to finding evidence to prove his guilt."

"True. We've been watching him for two weeks and he still managed to get this past us. We can't track Apparition, only check places we think he might go. And there are too many places where someone could be murdered for us to keep track of."

"I've told you before, Potter, question his brother. Claudius has a weak character—he can easily be lead and made to volunteer information. Have Draco meet with him—"

"I don't want Draco involved!" Harry snapped.

Lucius stopped, his mouth a straight line of bitterness.

"You're here to advise, not give orders," Harry said.

Hermione caught the subtle movement of Lucius' eyes as they flicked to her and then back to Harry.

"Clearly, I've overstepped my bounds," Lucius said. He leaned back in his chair and swirled the remainder of his firewhiskey.

"Clearly," Harry repeated. "I think we're done here."

Lucius stood, wand in hand, and prepared to Apparate. He looked at Harry expectantly.

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I'll stay here with Hermione for a bit longer."

Hermione thought she caught a glimpse of anger in his eyes before the elder Malfoy Disapparated with a sharp crack.

"Finally!" Harry groaned.

Hermione looked at Harry, a hint of a smile tugging on her lips. "You and Mr Malfoy not getting along?"

"No, it's just… he's been getting on my nerves lately. I can only take so much 'woe is me and my precious fortune'. Poor bloke has to make do with living in a palace. How horrible. Really."

Hermione laughed.

They settled in the dining room for dinner and Hermione enjoyed her first meal with company. There was something strangely reminiscent of their time together during the darker days of the war, when dinner had often been by lamplight in a tent.

"Harry, what does Malfoy do?" she asked, absentmindedly circling the rim of her glass.

"Which one?"

"Draco, of course. I already know what his father does."

"Annoys the hell out of me."

She couldn't help laughing—she definitely shared that sentiment. "No, I mean what does he do for _work_?"

"For work?" Harry pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, I don't think. He applied at the Ministry a few times. At my department too, but they turned him down."

"Malfoy wanted to be an Auror?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it's kind of crazy, isn't it? From Death Eater to Auror. No wonder they didn't hire him."

"Auror Malfoy," Hermione mused. "It has a ring to it."

Harry grimaced. "No, please. I don't want to work with Draco Malfoy. I can barely stand the slimy git."

"Is that why Mr Malfoy keeps pushing you to let him do something? Because he thinks it'll help Draco get into the Auror Department?"

"Probably. It won't make a difference though. No one's going to hire the son of a known Death Eater. Not when he's had the Dark Mark himself," Harry said. "And definitely not in Magical Law Enforcement."

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. "But you work with Mr Malfoy. How is that different?"

"They tolerate him as long as he helps us bring down Dark wizards. But he's still not part of the Auror department. They won't even allow him in the Ministry."

"That's a bit… hypocritical, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but can you blame them? No one wants to be associated with Dark Magic anymore."

She couldn't argue with that sentiment. One of the worst things a person could be accused of these days was being a Dark wizard. It was almost synonymous with being a Voldemort supporter, and, by extension, a Death Eater. It could get one, if not thrown in Azkaban, then under some very harsh scrutiny from the Ministry for Magical Law Enforcement.

Extreme, but effective. Public opinion was overwhelmingly in support of Muggle-borns. And, yet, still her conscience bothered her.

"Do you think what they're doing it's—well, it seems a bit harsh to me." She tried to word her question carefully. Harry could be awfully stubborn when put on the defensive. "Targeting pure-bloods, refusing them jobs—"

"Harsh? It seems a hell of a lot nicer than what they wanted to do to us."

"That doesn't make it…" She hesitated to say 'right', but it was on the tip of her tongue.

Harry caught it anyway. "Right? Neither is cutting up girls and leaving their bodies half-buried in the woods. But it still happens. How many of them, do you think, are feeling sorry for that poor girl we found yesterday? I hear whispers of 'probably deserved it', 'good there's one less'. Honestly, Hermione, I thought you of all people would understand."

"Don't make this about me, Harry."

Harry sighed and clinked his fork sharply on his plate. "But it is about you. That's the problem, isn't it?"

Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but agree.

* * *

**A/N: **Please be kind and feed the author. Write a review. :)


	12. Unlikely Allies

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** Thank you for all the favourites, alerts, and reviews. :)

**.**

**Chapter 12 – Unlikely Allies**

**.**

During the day, she read.

Lucius Malfoy's library was easily the envy of the wizarding world and Hermione devoured as much and as quickly as she could. She'd even read the book he'd given her; _Wizarding Heritage: Blood and Lineage_.

Hermione had never wanted to destroy a book in her life—she considered all pieces of knowledge valuable—but she'd had to restrain herself several times over from throwing it in the fire. It was no wonder that pure-blooded wizards held such prejudice, when they were being fed this poorly researched, nonsensical rubbish as fact.

True wizards, according to the author, were descended from highly-advanced magical beings, while Muggles were a distant cousin, descended from animals and essentially considered subhumans, who had grown to imitate their superiors (wizards). As such, Muggles could on rare occasion produce an offspring with magical ability, but this was, in fact, an anomaly and the magic was of a weaker strain. While it might resemble wizard magic, it was far more like the magic of lesser beings; House-Elves, Centaurs, and Goblins, for example.

The first part was devoted to some contrived pseudo-science meant to prove the superiority of pure wizarding genes and how mixing with tainted wizarding genes diluted magical inheritance and would eventually cause the eradication of the wizarding race. The second part was a collection of even more infuriating diatribes on why wizarding purity must be maintained, why positions of power should only be held by those of pure blood, and how all of society would eventually become weak and collapse if those wizards of inferior heritage were allowed to integrate themselves into the wizarding world. Separation, it postulated, was necessary for survival.

She comforted herself with the thought that most wizards were scientifically impaired and severely lacking in logic.

Prejudice, unfortunately, could not be undone by logic.

This book wasn't the reason pure-bloods believed in their own superiority—it was just an expression of that belief, a pathetic attempt to justify what they wanted to be true, fuelled by insecurity and fear and a desperate need for power.

It took her a week to get through the book, which involved frequent starts and stops when she couldn't stand to read anymore, and by the end she was more disgusted than she had ever been with pure-blood beliefs.

She pitied them—all those arrogant, supercilious, bigoted pure-bloods. She _pitied_ them. They were indoctrinated with these misguided notions from an early age and with nothing and no one to contradict them, they built themselves upon a faulty foundation which required ever more crutches to hold itself up. It was difficult for such people to acknowledge their beliefs as invalid, especially when those beliefs promoted their own sense of superiority.

Why on earth had Malfoy wanted her to read this? She had expected it to be pure nonsense and she'd been right.

The book didn't make it into the fire, but it certainly found itself hitting the wall with all the force Hermione could muster. She curled up in her chair, wrapping her arms around her knees to still the trembling, and quietly tried to convince herself it was from anger and not hurt.

* * *

At night, she dreamed.

Dark dreams in which shadowed beings lurked in every corner and raised their wands to whisper "Avada Kadavra", dreams in which giant dogs with blazing eyes chased her through endless hallways while her legs turned heavy and leaden and the dogs stalked ever closer.

Harry was there, his back turned, too busy to care, and Ron, always too far out of reach.

The floor melted to pools of blackness beneath her and pulled her down, her fingers scraping the floor, while her screams evaporated into silence.

Hermione awoke suddenly, heavy darkness pressing in all around her. The room was silent, save for the gentle rustle of curtains by the window.

Something had woken her. A sound. She lay still and listened.

There was a thump and a rustle downstairs. Someone was in the house. Tully, she knew, was asleep in her cupboard and the Elf was always silent when she went about her work.

What was it Lucius had told her? That no one was able to Apparate in or out, except for himself, of course, and Draco seemed able to do it as well. But she doubted either would be rummaging about the house in the middle of the night.

Wilkes had been under an Imperius Curse. This madman may not be able to get to her himself, but what if he had Imperiused someone who could?

She had to find out.

Hermione rose from the bed, pulling a dressing gown over her nightclothes. She turned the doorknob slowly, silently, and emerged into the hallway, her wand held out before her.

The sound of heavy footsteps drifted up from below and she froze, her body holding still while her heart raced madly. She squeezed her wand with determination.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she whispered, "_Silencio,_" and then, silently, she placed one careful foot after the other until she reached the bottom of the stairs. Better to take him by surprise.

Light was spilling out from the open door of the living room. She crept closer and took a deep breath before pulling open the door. "_Stupefy!_"

The spell shot from her wand and Draco Malfoy yelled and jumped back, tripping over the armrest of a nearby couch, and falling on his butt on the floor with a loud thump, while a clatter of books fell around him. The red light of Hermione's spell hit the wall harmlessly, ricocheted once and then dissipated into nothing.

She held still for a long moment. "Malfoy?"

"Granger," he said, as he righted himself and tried to regain his dignity.

She scrutinised him carefully, not yet willing to lower her wand. He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt, his wizard's robe having been left behind as if he hadn't been prepared to go out. But his expression, his mannerisms, as he meticulously straightened his clothes and brushed back his hair, even the distant, unsure way in which he observed her—they were distinctly Draco's.

"You can stop pointing that thing at me," he snapped.

It was then she noticed he wasn't even holding his wand out. She tucked her wand in the pocket of her robes, breathing a shaky sigh of relief, and then looked up at him with an irritated scowl. "I thought you were—what were you thinking sneaking in?"

"I didn't sneak in! This is a Malfoy house, you know."

"I nearly Stupefied you."

"Do you always attack people before you find out who they are?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Only when they snoop around a house in the middle of the night. Someone has been trying to kill me if you hadn't noticed." She glanced down at the books that were scattered on the floor. "Did you bring these?"

"No." He refused to meet her eyes. She threw him a look of disbelief. "But you probably shouldn't leave them out."

She leaned forward, curiosity pulling her gaze to peruse the titles of the books. _Blake's Counter-curses and Healing Spells for the Dark Arts_, _Magical Maladies and their Cures,_ _Advanced Curses and Cures. _Her breath caught in her throat.

"Are these… ?"

"I thought they might help for… you know." He gestured at his face. "They're better than anything you'd find at the Ministry."

Books on the Dark Arts. He must have retrieved them from his own family library. But why would Draco help her? She hadn't seen anything to indicate that his opinion of her had changed.

They stared at each other in silence, each waiting for some reaction to respond to, neither daring to be the first to move. The weight of the past was heavy between them.

"Thank you," Hermione said, breaking the stalemate.

Draco huffed a tiny laugh and ran a hand through his hair. "I have to get back."

Before anyone realises you're gone? she thought. Lucius wouldn't want her to have these. He'd be furious if he found out.

Draco left quickly, with an awkward nod and without another word. She didn't mind. Words between them were difficult—full of past hurts and bad memories and differences they could never overcome.

Hermione began collecting the books and placing them in a pile on the table. As her eyes scanned the covers, her mind considered the strange way Draco had snuck in at night to bring them to her. Why not simply bring the books with him when he brought her newspapers? Surely, it couldn't be that difficult to hide.

Unless everything he brought was checked before he came. Was it being checked by an Auror? It was possible that Harry was taking precautions to ensure there wasn't a repeat of the Grimmauld Place incident, but, somehow she didn't think that was the case. Draco didn't seem worried that Harry might catch him at something. No, far more likely, she decided, was that everything was being checked by his father.


	13. A Bit of Truth

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** I struggled a bit with this chapter, hence the delay. Sorry, and thank you for the reviews.

**.**

**Chapter 13 – A Bit of Truth**

**.**

Hermione rose late on Thursday. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her it was already past noon. She'd stayed up the past two nights reading, so that she'd finally collapsed in the early hours of the morning. The excitement of actually being close to a solution for her injuries was driving her as if she were studying for her OWLs all over again.

There was no particular counter-spell for the curse that she'd been hit with, she realised, but there was enough information there to help her craft one of her own. The thought made her quiver with excitement. This was where she excelled—putting her extensive knowledge and research into crafting a unique solution to a problem, a new counter-spell for Dark magic.

She washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs to the breakfast room, still clutching one of the books in her hand. She couldn't stop reading when she was this close to an answer. On the table was a bowl of large, red strawberries. With barely a thought, she snatched one up and bit into it, delighting in the summery sweetness.

"Enjoying yourself?"

She spun at the sound of the voice, hastily wiping bits of red juice that were smeared on her lips. Lucius was standing in the doorway, observing her with a cool gaze and a strange curl to his lip that was somewhere between a smile and a sneer. He couldn't have just Apparated—she'd have heard it—which meant she'd been too absorbed in her thoughts to notice he'd been there. She stole a glance at the table; three new copies of the Daily Prophet lay piled in the middle. _Stupid, Hermione_.

She wasn't sure what to make of him, not since that day in the library. And there was no one here to keep him in check. Had Harry allowed him to come here alone? Something about that seemed odd.

"Miss Granger?" he pressed.

"I—sorry," she stammered, quickly wiping her hand on her robe while she held her book close against her side, the cover pressed into her robes. "I didn't realise you were here."

"But I am here." He smirked as he reached around her for one of the strawberries. She refused to move, but as his arm brushed her waist and her skin flushed with a nervous heat, she shuffled backwards to avoid him. "So, by all means, continue as you were."

She wasn't going to do that. With a casual flair, she dropped her book on the table, making sure to keep the cover face down and the spine away from Lucius' line of sight.

"I was going to read, but obviously I won't be doing that as you're here. Is there something new with the case?" she asked. She took a few determined steps away from him and turned when she reached the doorway.

Lucius followed her with his eyes, still observing her in that cool, collected manner as if he had all the time in the world. "No," he said finally. "I merely decided to look in on you. As a guest in my house, it would be remiss of me not to ensure your needs were being met."

"So why not just send Draco?"

He frowned. "Would you prefer that? I hadn't thought you cared for my son's company."

"Draco and I are on speaking terms these days."

"Are you now?" He smirked at her as if she were missing some inside joke. "I'm beginning to think the rumours of your amazing intellect have been overstated."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do I keep telling you, Miss Granger?" He sighed and bit into a strawberry, savouring it before continuing. "Your Gryffindor attributes do not serve you well these days. In fact, they make you an all too easy target. Any Slytherin pure-blood looking to improve his public image will be trying to weasel his way into your good graces. That includes my son."

She stared at him in disbelief. "How can you speak that way about—he's your son!"

"Yes, I know him well." His lip curled up in a sneer. "You, clearly, do not."

Her face was burning with embarrassment. She hadn't asked Draco why he'd brought her the books last night, not wanting to risk the possibility he might change his mind, but she also hadn't anticipated what he might want in return. With a quiet grumble to herself, she swept out of the room.

A moment later she felt a strong arm at her elbow, ushering her into the parlour room. As soon as she was across the threshold, she heard the door slam shut and the click of a lock turning.

"What—" she started, but he had left her side and was crossing the room to one of the large wingback chairs by the fireplace.

Lucius pulled his cloak from his shoulders, draped it over the back of the chair and seated himself with a flourish. He gestured to the seat directly across from him. "Sit, Miss Granger."

She remained standing. "Is it really necessary to lock the door?"

Lucius sighed. "I thought we could have a civil conversation, but since you insist on behaving in such a childish manner, running away—"

"I'm not!"

He gestured harshly at the seat again.

Her instinct was to defy him, to prove she couldn't be ordered around, but she felt silly fighting over a seat. So she waited for a long moment before seating herself slowly and sitting back in the chair as far as possible.

Lucius snapped his fingers and Tully instantly appeared. "Miss Granger has not yet breakfasted," he said. The Elf vanished and returned a few minutes later with a tray filled with tea and breakfast pastries. She carefully placed it on the table between them before disappearing once again.

"Eat," Lucius said. It was less a suggestion than a command.

He was watching her as she filled her teacup, she noted, and seemed to wait until she had begun sipping her tea before he continued.

"Have you read the book?" Lucius asked.

Her heart raced wildly for a moment before she realised which book he was referring to. Of course. He wanted to know what she thought of his Anti-Muggle propaganda. "That offensive piece of rubbish? Yes, unfortunately, I did."

He smirked at her comment. "What did you think of it? Or was that the extent of your opinion?"

"It was horrible! Unfounded, hateful propaganda. And the so-called science was absurd! I can't believe anyone would be so stupid as to—"

"And yet this is what every pure-blood child is taught and raised to accept. My father had me memorise it." He smiled at her. "And I'll ignore your slight. I'm sure it was meant with the best of intentions."

She set her tea cup down so harshly, the liquid sloshed over the sides and onto the table. "You already knew what I'd think about it. Why would you even ask me to read such a thing? It was insulting. Or was that the point? You wanted me to know my place?"

"You could have put the book down at any time, but you didn't, did you?" Lucius observed her thoughtfully. "I had hoped you'd be less… emotional about this. Of all the Muggle-borns I've ever met, you seemed most likely to be able to handle the information." He paused. "But perhaps I was mistaken."

She opened her mouth to respond and then shut it again quickly. He was goading her. These constant jabs at her intelligence were meant to override her rational mind. She calmed herself, and phrased her next question carefully. "What did you want me to learn from it?"

"I wanted you to know what you're up against, because you seem far too naive for your own good. Many pure-bloods still adhere to the old ways and old beliefs."

"I was aware of that. And the point?" she asked.

"Given your intention to pursue a Ministry career and the trusting nature all you Gryffindors seem to have, I thought it would be useful reading."

"This is meant to tell me what other people think of me? How very enlightening, Mr Malfoy." She was trying for sarcasm, but her voice shook. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You're not eating."

The sharpness of his words caught her off guard and Hermione almost shivered beneath his gaze. She looked down at the untouched plate of pastries, suddenly feeling that she had done something wrong.

"I'm not very hungry," she said.

Lucius continued watching her expectantly, his lips set in a thin harsh line, until, finally, she snatched a croissant from the plate and bit off a piece.

"Not just 'other people,'" he continued, as if the whole episode hadn't happened. "People whose opinions will matter. You have ambitions to further the rights of House-Elves, I'm told, among other things."

"I don't see how that's any interest of yours."

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Don't play dense, Miss Granger. It doesn't suit you."

"And your _point_?"

"The point is that if you think you are likely to make changes on your own, you are sadly mistaken. As the Ministry stands now, no pure-blood will take you seriously. They will view you as an unfortunate necessity, an abhorrent creature that they've no choice but to work with to gain what they desire and they will resist you at every opportunity out of spite if nothing else."

She took in his words silently. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered this before—she'd known through her own research that the highest positions in the Ministry were held by pure-bloods. Muggle-borns were often relegated to minor desk jobs, even half-bloods were limited in rank. Despite the war, there had been very little change. Known supporters of Voldemort had been removed and their replacements had quietly assumed the positions while the Ministry moved along as it always had. She told herself it was still early and change was coming, but doubt nagged at her.

"You think they can change their minds, don't you?"Lucius continued in a patronizing tone. "If you can show them the 'error' of their ways, they'll agree with you. If you can prove to them you're as good—no, better—than any pure-blood wizard, they'll have no choice but to accept you."

Her nails were digging in to her palms. Of course, logic would triumph in the end. They couldn't deny her when she consistently showed herself to be a perfectly competent witch.

Lucius observed her coldly. "I warn you that will most assuredly have the opposite effect. Indeed, I'm sure you've noticed that in some of your more juvenile attempts." When she didn't respond, he pressed further. "How successful have you been thus far? How many minds have you changed? How many of your classmates now support your attempts to free House-Elves?"

"Ron—"

"I hope I don't need to explain why _his_ opinion shouldn't count."

"Why shouldn't it? Despite what you'd like to think, Ron is every bit as much a pure-bred wizard as you are!"

Lucius sighed heavily. "Don't tell me you're still infatuated with that oblivious, silly boy? Have you not grown tired of him yet?"

"How dare you! He—"

"Hasn't sent you a single letter the entire time you've been away, has he?"

Her skin ran cold. "Is there a point to this, Mr Malfoy? What exactly do you want?"

"Ever the Gryffindor," he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. "A mutually beneficial arrangement. A partnership, if you will. I have worked in the Ministry a long time. I'm experienced in these things. You have ambitions that I could assist you with and we both know that you cannot and will not succeed without help."

She was so shocked, she could barely stammer out a reply. "What—why would I need _your_ help?"

"Because you're Muggle-born, Miss Granger. Because it doesn't matter how high your NEWT scores are or how many dark wizards you bring down or how many bills you pass, they will never see you as anything more than a Muggle playing at being a witch. You will always be considered an inferior wizard—inferior in magic, inferior in mind, and inferior in spirit—and they will never allow you to be one of them."

The truth of his words were a stinging slap to her pride. At Hogwarts, she had never been able to escape the stigma of her blood status. While the students in her house were less prejudiced against Muggle-borns, she was constantly aware of the slights and reminders that she was not born into the wizarding world, that she was an outsider trying to find a place in it.

"And what do you get?"

He gave her a glance that made her stomach twist. "Mutual assistance."

"Mr Malfoy, as I recall, no one will even acknowledge you at the Ministry. How would having your support…." And then the answer dawned on her. "You think _my_ support will get you back in? Oh, I'm to be your token Muggle-born to prove to the world you're reformed, am I? Even if I would consider helping you, at this point, I'm quite sure your reputation is beyond repair."

"You underestimate yourself, Miss Granger. You have more political power given the current situation than you realise, but you seem blissfully unaware of how to take advantage of it. I am only suggesting that you put it to use."

"And what would you do once reinstated in the Ministry?" Hermione asked. "That's hardly difficult to figure out. I'm sure I'd be your first target to eliminate."

"Why would I rid myself of a valuable asset?"

His words caught her off guard. There was something about the way he said it, the possessiveness in his voice, that she didn't like. "You have Harry to vouch for you. I hardly see how anyone could do more."

Lucius laughed. "Mr Potter would be eaten alive if he attempted political manoeuvring. I have more faith in your abilities."

Her head was reeling. Part of her wanted to jump at his offer, because the satisfaction of claiming that she had one of the biggest pure-blood bigots backing her—and former Death Eater, no less—would be some kind of victory over them. That she was good enough, magical enough, to convince even him. The other, more rational and cautious side of her, warned that nothing good would ever come of an alliance with Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, Miss Granger?" he pressed.

"I'm supposed to believe that you would align yourself with a _Mudblood_?" she spat the word with disgust.

Lucius merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You memorised that book," she continued. "Don't pretend you don't believe that rubbish. "

"_Believed_. I like to think I've grown wiser and not just older. And please do not presume to know what I think."

Hermione scoffed silently. Pure-blooded prejudice was as ingrained in him as his magic. She could sense it in the way he talked to her, the way he flinched when she touched him, the way he treated her as less than human. But she would rather he admit it, because she was tired of his pretences and fake smiles, of second guessing and suspecting. "Then tell me," she challenged. "Because I'd like to know."

"Would you now?" Lucius smiled. "But that's not important, not at the moment."

"It is to me." She watched him intently, as if she could decipher the answer from the deceptively placid calm of his features.

Lucius sighed, gesturing at her with an imperious and exasperated air. "Very well, Miss Granger. I believe Muggle-born wizards are in every way equal to pure-blood wizards and deserving of their place in the wizarding world. Muggles, though not magical, are no less deserving of my respect."

He looked at her expectantly.

Hermione sipped her tea. "Perfectly quoted from the new Ministry's official literature. Mr Malfoy, clearly you think I'm an idiot."

"No, but I do think it's foolish to ask questions to which you don't want to hear the answers."

"Of course, I want to hear the answer. Why would—"

"Perhaps it was the way you bit your lip after asking and held your breath. Or the way you're clutching your cup right now." Lucius sniffed with disapproval. "You're rather obvious, Miss Granger. It's difficult to ignore."

Hermione felt her face flush with heat. "I may not like the answer, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it."

"I do not agree with the book," he said quietly. "But I would no more acknowledge a Muggle as my equal as I would a dog. I find the very notion offensive."

"And Muggle-borns?" she asked. "Where do we fit into that?"

"Where indeed?" Lucius muttered, and she barely caught the words. And then he turned to her with a knowing smile. "Is that what you wanted to know—what I think of you? Is my opinion so important?"

"No," she protested. "I just—"

"I have always thought you were rather exceptional for a Muggle-born."

Her brows drew together in confusion. "What? You're just trying to avoid the answer. You do agree with the book, don't you?"

"I said I did not," Lucius said with cool disdain. "And I certainly don't need to justify myself to you."

Hermione merely regarded him with a raised eyebrow as if to say, 'I never said you did'.

"_You_ don't believe yourself to be better than anyone else, do you?" Lucius spat, and Hermione flinched at his sudden change. "Why you're the epitome of humility and grace, Miss Granger, certainly more so than those you deem stupid or irrational or bigoted, am I correct? How generous that you choose to grace us with your superior intelligence and morals."

Where before she had felt humiliated, now she flushed with angry indignation. She rose from her seat and stood before him and words came tumbling out that were shaking with emotion. "At least I don't use it as an excuse to torture innocent people."

Lucius stopped, tensed. He stood, towering over her with his superior height, which caused her to take an involuntary step back. "What is it that you want from me, Miss Granger?" His voice was sharp and low. Beneath the calm surface of his face, she could sense his growing irritation with her, like a ripple that slid through his muscles. "An admission of guilt? Prostrate begging for forgiveness? Public humiliation? Shall I sit in a corner and weep? Perhaps that would satisfy you."

She shook her head, an almost imperceptible movement, and then her voice carried quietly yet clearly in the room. "Regret."

His eyelids fluttered, breaking the intensity of his gaze, and he gave a short huff of laughter. "Regret?" he repeated incredulously. "How beautifully naïve. Have I not apologised enough? I can't change what has already passed."

"You don't see anything wrong with what you did, do you?"

Lucius observed her for a long moment, before speaking. "I did what I felt was necessary, what was required of me, and what was expected of a wizard of my blood status. And I have since paid for it in every way imaginable. No, I do not regret my actions. You have very pretty ideals, Miss Granger, but they are not at all realistic."

The answer didn't satisfy her—she wanted him to admit that he was a selfish, ignorant bigot, so she could dismiss him and his ideas, or failing that, to admit that he had been wrong.

How could he not regret?

Lucius exhaled through gritted teeth and turned away. She could tell he was rubbing his temples and trying to regain his self-control.

She wondered if she was getting under his skin the way he was getting under hers.

Finally, he turned back, regarding her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "Miss Granger—" He stopped short. "Hermione. I have given you every courtesy, extended my hospitality and put my life and my family at risk for your sake. I have apologised for what you suffered in my home, again and again. Your distrust of me is entirely unfounded."

She grabbed his right wrist with a ferocity that caught him off-guard and yanked the sleeve back, ripping the button from his cuff and revealing the marred skin of his forearm bearing the Dark Mark—faded, but still visible. "_This_ is why I will never trust you."

Lucius pulled his arm from her grasp so quickly she stumbled and had to grab onto a nearby chair to stop herself from falling.

"You clearly delight in reminding me of my past mistakes." He moved to pull down his sleeve, but stopped, leaving the Dark Mark exposed. He was trembling, she noticed. Ever so slightly. If she hadn't become so accustomed to his mannerisms, she wouldn't have noticed it. "The only thing this mark represents now is the shame of House Malfoy. And a reminder that I very nearly destroyed everything I loved. Is it any wonder that I want to distance myself from all the things that lead me down that path?"

She observed him silently, worrying her lip between her teeth, and sharply reminded herself that Lucius Malfoy was a brilliant liar.

Lucius repaired his cuff and covered his arm. "You never answered my proposal."

"I'm not going to lie for you."

"Noble, stupid Gryffindors," Lucius muttered. "Everyone lies." He pulled his cloak from the chair, smoothly arranging it over his shoulders. "But the best lies have a bit of truth to them."

Hermione glared at him, but refused to respond to his goading.

"I nearly forgot." He pulled a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his cloak. "From Potter." He tossed it onto the table. "Miss Granger," he said, reaching for her hand. She pulled away, suddenly reminded of his behaviour in the library. He sighed. "At the very least, allow me to behave as a gentleman. I have given you every courtesy."

Grudgingly, she let him take her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it.

"Mr Malfoy?" she said and he stopped. "You said there was a potions room you could open for me."

He obviously hadn't expected that. She noted the subtle frown on his lips. He dropped her hand and flicked his wand to the side. "The door is now open. Tully will help you find it when you wish."

Hermione couldn't help but sigh in relief when he was finally gone.


	14. Scars

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** I'd apologise for how late this is, but I don't think it'd mean much at this point. In any case, sorry for the lateness.

**.**

**Chapter 14 – Scars**

**.**

For what she hoped would be the last time, Hermione applied her salve in large, sweeping movements over her cheek.

Her scars itched. Itched, prickled, and wept pus.

It had been over a month and they were just as raw and painful as ever.

_It's disgusting_. The thought swept through her mind before she had the chance to stop it, but she quickly pushed it away. She was not the type of girl to be obsessed with her looks. And yet she couldn't help but anticipate Ron's reaction when he saw her face smooth and clean and whole once more. He'd be pleased, of course. He liked pretty girls. He wouldn't want her with the scars.

It was September 19th. Harry had invited her to celebrate her birthday at the Burrow. She glanced at the open letter on the vanity and had to smile at the thought that Harry insisted on celebrating her birthday when he couldn't even remember his own. Ever the cautious Auror, he had postponed the date for a week and planned it on a random day, just in case their suspected killer anticipated her going there. It was well-known that Hermione Granger was connected to the Weasleys.

Which brought her back to her plans tonight. Her spell was ready. The only thing left was to see whether it worked. A test subject would be ideal, but since she couldn't recreate the spell she'd been hit with and certainly wouldn't have tried it on someone even if she did, she'd just have to try it on herself.

Lucius Malfoy's potions' room was as well stocked as one would expect from a wizard of his standing, but it was conveniently absent of any of the ingredients that might have been helpful to her. It was also the most elegantly furnished potions' room she had ever seen. Artfully designed glass bottles were displayed along mahogany shelves with handwritten labels. A large desk in the same dark mahogany stood close by with a cauldron set out for her use and polished knives laid out beside a cutting board. In the corner were two large armchairs and a coffee table between them.

Draco arrived at midnight as they had planned, bringing the missing ingredients that she hadn't been able to find in the potions room. He'd been surprisingly agreeable, almost eager to assist her when she had asked him, and Lucius' words had echoed in her mind.

She tried to put that from her mind as she laid out the ingredients on the table.

Henbane.

Arnica oil.

And her main ingredient: Solomon's Seal root.

Combined with murtlap essence, powdered moonstone, ginger root and a sprig of thyme. She had gone over and over and over her calculations and was fairly certain it would work. How well was anybody's guess.

She had just prepared her cauldron and lit the fire beneath it, when Draco entered the room. She glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Taking care of the House Elf."

Her brow furrowed. "Taking care of…?"

"I can't have her going back to tell Father what we've been up to."

She stopped her work and turned to face him. "What did you say to her?"

His face was the picture of innocence, but Hermione was hardly fooled. "To lock herself in a lit oven if she told."

"That's barbaric! Your father's going to find out at some point."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well, he doesn't need to know that _I_ was involved."

"You haven't learned a shred of compassion, have you?"

"For a House Elf?" He snorted. "Of course not."

Hermione stared at him incredulously, then resigned herself to chopping ingredients. She could feel Draco's eyes on her, sense the irritated scowl on his face. He must have known she wouldn't approve of his actions, but he'd told her anyway. _Arrogant, spoiled brat_.

She heard the soft crunch of his footsteps as he stepped up behind her. "I don't understand your fascination with stupid creatures—House Elves, Potter, Weasley…"

"You should be a bit more grateful to Harry," she snapped. "He saved your family from Azkaban."

Draco threw her a bitter look and quieted. He grabbed a knife and began chopping ginger root next to her with an intensity that told her he wasn't at all happy about it. For several long minutes, the quiet scrape of knives on the cutting board and the cauldron bubbling away were the only sounds that accompanied their work. She could almost pretend she was back in Hogwart's, working on a potions assignment. Except this was Draco Malfoy beside her, not one of her friends. There was no professor to tell her if she'd gone wrong, no points to be gained if she succeeded. And she was trapped in a house, whether by choice or necessity, that was owned by someone who would have tried to kill her only a few short months ago, hiding from a murderer who wanted to make a statement with her death—she put an end to that thought before it could overcome her. Her eyes were already stinging with unshed tears and she blinked them back fiercely, silently cursing herself for being so emotional. Next to her, she briefly caught a glimpse of Draco looking away.

Was that pity in his eyes? Why on earth would Draco Malfoy pity her?

"Father likes to keep his collectibles here."

"Collectibles?" She couldn't quite imagine Lucius Malfoy with stamps or rare baseball cards.

"You've probably seen the room. The one with all the art pieces? He brings things here that he doesn't want to keep in the Manor."

Hermione stifled a chuckle. Only a Malfoy would have an entire house just to store things—

…_that he doesn't want to keep in the Manor._

The scrape of her knife against the chopping board was a broken rhythm in her ear. _That's stupid, Hermione_, her inner voice admonished.

"I'm never allowed to touch any of his possessions," Draco continued. There was bitterness in his voice. "I did once. It was just an old Snitch he'd kept from his Quidditch days, and I just wanted to see it. And when he found out—you'd think I'd broken into the Gringott's vault. I'd never seen him so angry."

Hermione kept her eyes on her work, refusing to acknowledge his words. She didn't like this topic. It was too personal and conversations with Draco were always uncomfortable and awkward—dragging up memories of hateful words and cruel taunts, of feeling insecure and rejected.

She almost snapped at him to shut up, but the more logical side of her brain stopped her. If Draco wanted to talk, it only made sense to take advantage of it.

"Mr Malfoy—your father—he mentioned the Walpurgis Knights," she said, carefully eyeing him to see his reaction.

Draco stopped and blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"He said that—that _he—_Marcus Crowley thought of himself as a modern day Walpurgis Knight." Marcus Crowley. The man who wanted to kill her for the good of wizarding kind. "I tried to research them, but I couldn't find anything." That should stroke his ego. "I just thought you might know something."

"You couldn't find anything?" Draco smirked.

She shook her head.

"It's a bit of history that's only known to pure-blood families. The Knights of Walpurgis were a secret society. Only pure-bloods were admitted and only those of the highest standing. Several of the Malfoy ancestors have been knights. It's a point of pride for my family that we've not just existed in the wizarding world for the last thousand years, but that we've also left our mark upon it. I'm sure you've noticed that the Malfoy name has been featured in every significant historical event." Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that she _had_ noticed that. While she could scoff at the Malfoys arrogance and vanity, she couldn't deny a bit of envy that he was part of a family that was a significant contributor to the wizarding world. She wondered at times what it must have been like to grow up surrounded and immersed by magic. How much more might she have accomplished if she'd had the opportunities he did?

"Long before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, the Knights were responsible for protecting the magical world from the Muggle world. I'm sure your Muggle… friends must have their own stories about us. We have too many to count—Muggles hunting magical creatures, stealing from wizards, _murdering_ them." He emphasized the word as if it was some sort of justification.

Hermione nodded dumbly. It had occurred to her that the fairy tales she'd grown up with had some basis in fact, but she strongly suspected that like all oral traditions, there was a great deal of exaggeration, embellishment, and simple bias. "But wizards weren't always innocent. We have a number of stories of Muggles being tricked by magic or magical creatures that lead them to their death. It's no wonder they were distrustful or retaliated."

"Then maybe it's best for both worlds if they're kept separate."

Hermione stopped chopping. "So which side does that put me on?"

Draco looked uncomfortable. "You're… well, you're a witch."

He seemed unsure, but Hermione supposed it was progress. A little smile of triumph crossed her lips.

Draco seemed pleased with himself. "My father used to tell me that joining the Death Eaters was like a return to wizarding knighthood. I suppose he thought we would be remembered for saving the magical world." He shrugged. "And now, of course, service to the Dark Lord is just the family embarrassment."

He took a deep breath as if weighing something in his mind. And then he looked at her directly. "I never thought it was right, you know, what Aunt Bella did to you. You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of it. I'm sorry."

She was breathless for a moment, blinking at him while her mind tried to process his words. "Thank you. That—that means a lot."

And it did, more than it probably should have. She chided herself mentally for putting so much weight on Draco's opinion, but she couldn't help the lump that swelled into her throat. She didn't care about what some bigoted pure-bloods thought of her, she told herself. She didn't care that the new Ministry of Magic's position had less to do with the belief that trying to eradicate Muggleborns was wrong, and more to do with distancing itself from the ideals of its previous government. She didn't care that in the eyes of many of the pure-bloods of the wizarding world, she was considered less than human. That what happened to her hadn't mattered, because she hadn't been a real witch anyway.

"Did I say something wrong?" Draco asked, leaning over to look at her.

He almost fell over when she grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. If Draco thought her behaviour was bizarre, he had the good sense not to say anything. He accepted the hug graciously, and she felt his arms encircle her and hold her tightly. It took her a moment to realise the absurdity of the idea that she was hugging Draco Malfoy and he was hugging her back. With a nervous laugh, she released him.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's OK. I didn't mind," Draco said. She watched him fumble with his ingredients and had to stifle a laugh.

"_Any Slytherin pure-blood looking to improve his public image will be trying to weasel his way into your good graces. That includes my son."_

The words slithered into her mind, destroying the moment in an instant. Why had she just thought of Lucius Malfoy?She didn't believe his words, but the moment she thought of them, she couldn't suppress the niggling doubts they planted. Draco's apology had _felt_ real. That's why she had hugged him. She could trust her own instincts, couldn't she?

Draco made another attempt at conversation, but after Hermione snapped at him, he kept silent. She couldn't get Lucius out of her mind, the way he smirked at her when he knew something she didn't, the way he easily pointed out her flaws and mistakes, the way he assumed his natural superiority over her. His scathing remarks were enough inspiration to keep her working towards her goal.

It was past one o'clock in the morning when the potion was finally complete. It settled in the bottom of the cauldron, a pale, thick liquid with a scent that made Hermione wrinkle her nose. She stood over her potion, hands trembling with anticipation. All her calculations seemed to have been correct. Everything looked as it should. But would it work? She couldn't recreate the spell to test the solution. All she had were her own scars.

"What now?" Draco asked.

"Now... I try it." She took a deep breath. "And see what happens."

She scooped up a small amount of the potion. Tentatively, she applied a tiny amount to one of the open wounds on her hands. They waited.

She didn't feel anything. The skin on her hand was numb, which was a good sign at the very least. She touched it gingerly with her fingers, feeling the ridges of the scar.

"Does it hurt?" Draco asked.

She shook her head. "There's nothing." Maybe her combination had been wrong? Or the spell words? Crafting a spell was not a straightforward process, there was a degree of trial and error involved. She looked over her ingredients. The henbane would numb her wounds, that would explain the lack of sensation. The Solomon Seal's root… that was the main ingredient. It was slow acting, and could take hours to take effect.

"Did we do something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so. But it may be a while until we see any effect."

"How long?"

"Minutes. Hours. I can't say."

Draco groaned and dropped into a chair.

She almost felt the same way. It was exciting, yet disappointing at the same time. It would be hours before she would know if it had worked. And the potion was only good while fresh. If she didn't apply it to all of her wounds now, she'd have to make a whole new batch, which meant she would have to wait for Draco to gather new ingredients. There was some risk, of course. If her calculations were wrong, she didn't know what it might do to her.

_A very small risk_, she thought. None of her ingredients were dangerous. At worst, it would probably do nothing. _No, it will work_, she told herself. She wasn't about to start doubting her abilities with potions, despite what Lucius Malfoy might think. He'd been so sure she couldn't find a solution herself. She couldn't wait to see his reaction when he realised she'd healed herself.

Hermione scooped the paste from the bowl and began applying it to her face.

"Is that a good idea?" Draco asked.

"It won't hurt. At worst, it won't do anything at all."

"You're sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure." She applied the last bit to her hands, covering over every inch of damaged skin with a thick coat of paste. She looked over at Draco, lounging in the chair. "You don't have to stay. The important work is done. I'll be fine on my own."

"No one will notice I'm gone until morning."

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "What I mean is, I could stay. For a bit. Until we know if the potion worked."

"Fine." She surprised even herself with her answer. But she had spent so much time alone in the house, she truly did not object to Draco's presence.

Conversation was not something they did well, so they played Wizarding Chess with an old set Draco dug out of the attic. He was a good player, better than she was, she had to admit. And it reminded her of all the games she had played, and usually lost, against Ron.

It was about three o' clock in the morning, while she was half dozing in her armchair and trying to remember if she was winning or losing, when her skin began to tingle.

"It's working," she said quietly. "I can feel it."

Draco sat up in his chair, blinking sleep from his eyes.

The tingling grew, until her skin felt as if it were being pricked by dozens of tiny needles. The sensation was unpleasant, but still bearable.

"Does it hurt?"

She shook her head, but then felt a sharp, painful jolt through her hand which prompted a sharp intake of breath. It was becoming more intense. The wound was turning red and inflamed, and the pricking sensation had now changed into a slow burn that grew and grew until she felt as if her entire hand had been thrust into a fire.

"It's burning!" she gasped out. She gripped her wand and pointed at her inflamed hand. "_Finite Incantatem_." Her skin was beginning to bubble where the potion touched it.

"It's too late for that! _Scourgify!_" Draco's spell scraped bits of the paste from her skin, but it continued to burn.

The pain was so intense now her eyes began to sting with tears. "We need something to-to neutralize the potion."

"Like what?" Draco asked. He was already searching through the potions on the shelves, turning over the bottles to check labels and looking exasperated.

Her mind reeled. An antidote, a cure… what neutralized Solomon Seal's root? She couldn't think. Pain muddled her thoughts. Her tears were like trails of lava down her face. "Malfoy—"

"Oh. Fuck." The look on his face made her heart freeze.

He grabbed her arm, and the pain made her scream aloud, but the next moment she was being dragged into that tiny space that was Apparition. When she felt the cold marble against her legs, she knew instantly where they were.

"Father!" Draco screamed, his voice echoing in the empty hall of Malfoy Manor. "Father!"

A door opened, she couldn't tell where. "Draco, what are you screaming about at this hour?" It was Narcissa. The sharp clip of her footsteps stopped suddenly. "What is this? Why did you bring _her_ here? What—"

"Narcissa, go back to bed. This doesn't concern you." Lucius' voice cut through like steel. Hermione raised her head. Through the blur of tears, she could see him standing on the staircase, wearing a brocade dressing gown, his silvery blond hair loose about his shoulders.

Choked sobs were bubbling from her mouth. He could help her—he'd offered to fix her scars before. Even with the mess she'd made of things, surely he'd know what to do. But she was afraid to face him, afraid of what he would think of her botched attempt to heal herself. Would he think her a useless Muggle-born, incapable of performing real magic? Would he consider this proof that she wasn't a real witch?

"Draco, bring Miss Granger to my room."

And then she was being pulled to her feet and pushed forward. Her feet stumbled on each step. She fell on the stairs and Draco half carried and half dragged her up the rest of the way. It seemed an eternity before they reached Lucius' room, though she was sure only a few seconds had passed. She would swear her skin was melting and it was all she could do to keep herself from screaming and trying to rake the potion from her face.

Draco pushed her into a chair, trying to restrain her hands from rubbing at her skin.

"The potion you crafted, what did you put in it?" Lucius asked.

"What?" Hermione gasped.

"Quickly," Lucius snapped. "What did you use?"

"It was powdered moonstone and—and Solomon Seal's root, henbane, murtlap—"

Lucius cursed under his breath. "Henbane should never be used with this kind of magic. It turns poisonous." Bottles clattered on a shelf as Lucius pushed them aside. There was a sharp crash as one hit the floor.

"But it didn't-it didn't say anywhere—"

"It wouldn't. Dark Magic is not something that is learned out of textbooks. It's assumed that you would know this."

Hermione sobbed aloud, overwhelmed by the pain of her wounds and her own failure. She had been out of her depth and foolish enough to believe she could cure herself when even the mediwitches at St Mungo's had been unable to.

"Draco, go to your room. I think you've done enough damage for tonight."

She looked up in time to catch Draco's eyes before he walked out the door. Was that it? Was there nothing else he could do for her? She gasped when she felt Lucius' hands on her face. His fingers were like coals over her damaged skin and she cried out, trying to pull away, but he held her still and continued. It was several more moments before she realised that the intense burning sensation had begun to recede. And then she felt the smooth wood of his wand against her cheek. Lucius was whispering something, but she couldn't make out what. And at that moment, she didn't particularly care. Her eyes drifted close and she revelled in the cooling sensation that swept over her.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when he was done. Her hands went immediately to her face, but Lucius grabbed her wrists and kept them away.

"It will take a few hours to heal completely. I'd tell you not to move, but I know how well you like following my orders." The last was said with a smirk, and she flushed in embarrassment. How many times now had she ignored his advice to her own detriment?

Lucius' demeanour suddenly changed. "You stupid girl. You could have melted your skin off. You're lucky Draco had the sense to bring you here before any permanent damage was done." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Why in Merlin's name did you put the potion all over your face?"

"There was nothing, at first. And I… I thought it was safe. I didn't—" She shook her head, her voice breaking off into sobs. She fixed her gaze on her hands, too embarrassed to look up at him. For a moment the room was silent except for the sound of her cries.

"I suppose I should be grateful. For once, you're not trying to run away from me."

Hermione's head snapped up. Lucius was actually chuckling to himself.

"I've half a mind to tie you to that chair." He smirked mischievously and her eyes widened.

"Lucius, you shouldn't tease her so." Narcissa was standing in the doorway and Hermione's heart leapt into her throat wondering how long she'd been there. "She won't understand your humour."

Lucius turned to look at his wife. "Ah, but Miss Granger and I understand each other very well."

Narcissa was glaring at her and Hermione silently cursed Lucius for putting her in the middle of this. She certainly didn't want his wife thinking she was making a play for her husband, but his comment was so vague she wasn't even sure what she should be protesting.

"I—I'm feeling much better now. I should go," she said, starting to rise from the chair.

Lucius pushed her back down with a firm hand. "No, you'll stay here until your wounds are healed." He turned towards his wife. "Go to bed, Narcissa. Now."

Narcissa raised her head indignantly, her pride obviously stung. Hermione could see she was seething with anger as she swept from the room and listened to the sharp click of her heels down the hall. A quick wave of Lucius' wand, and the door slammed shut.

And once again she was locked in a room with Lucius Malfoy. But he was already moving about the room and didn't seem to notice her discomfort at all. He filled a jar with dark, muddy-coloured liquid, capped it tightly and placed it on the table. "You'll need to apply this every thirty minutes for the next three hours." He glanced at her, silvery brows furrowing. "Or perhaps I'll have the House-Elf do it."

"You think I'm an idiot," she blurted out.

"No, I think you're incredibly stubborn and far too intelligent for your own good. Of course, you would have to try this."

She looked up at him, realisation dawning. "You knew?"

"What you were doing? My son was disappearing at night and several books were missing from the library. Of course, I knew. I miss nothing that goes on in my house, Miss Granger."

She felt incredibly stupid. She thought they'd been so clever getting around him and all the time he'd known. He must have been laughing at her pathetic attempts at hiding from him.

"I _am_ an idiot."

Lucius regarded her with one of his knowing smirks.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "I feel horrible enough as it is."

There was a knock at the door and Hermione jumped.

"Master," a timid voice called from outside. "Auror Potter is here and wanting to see Master."

"Harry?" Hermione gasped. "Why is Harry here?"

"The wards on the manor were placed to alert the Auror Department of any visitors. So your dear friend, Mr Potter, may be wondering who was calling on me in the middle of the night."

"Can you send him away?" It was an odd request coming from her, she knew, but she didn't want to have to explain to Harry the embarrassing mistakes she'd made tonight.

Lucius closed his eyes in exasperation. "Miss Granger, you've put me in a difficult position. I will have to explain your presence here and Potter will want to see you to confirm I'm telling the truth."

He left the room and after a long moment, she took a deep breath and followed. Her legs shook as she walked, trembling from exhaustion. Now that the adrenaline rush had passed, her body was demanding rest.

Harry was standing in the foyer, and even from this distance she could see concern plainly on his face. Lucius met him at the bottom of the stairs, his brocade robe sweeping the steps.

"I'm sorry to have alerted you, Mr Potter," Lucius said. "Miss Granger suffered a small accident and required my assistance. Luckily, Draco was able to bring her here before any lasting damage was done."

"Hermione..." Harry started. He seemed at a loss for words.

She nodded quietly. "I'm fine now, Harry."

"I can stay," he offered. "If you want me too."

She shook her head.

"Good night, Mr Potter. I'm sorry to have awakened you at such an ungodly hour. The Elf can see you out." And with that casual dismissal, Lucius turned and walked back up the stairs.

Hermione stood and watched Harry go, feeling horribly guilty for not offering him an explanation. As she started back to the room, she caught a glimpse of a darkened form on the wall—her reflection—and couldn't help but stop to examine her face. Her instincts hadn't been wrong. It seemed her skin actually had been melting from her face. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her scars had been ugly, but this—she was hideous, a disgusting mess of ruptured, mashed flesh that looked as if it had been put through a blender. Her reflection was so grotesque, she couldn't pull her eyes away. A desperate scream was bubbling from her chest.

"_Dormite!_" She scarcely heard the word before darkness claimed her.


	15. Rot

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** I know I didn't reply to a lot of reviews this time around, but I sincerely appreciate them. Thank you so much!

**.**

**Chapter 15 – Rot**

**.**

She opened her eyes to darkness. She was melting. She couldn't feel it, but instinctively she knew. Her skin was falling from her face like petals from a dying rose. Soon she'd be nothing but bones. Silent screams were coming from her mouth. Where had her voice gone? She tried to rise, her limbs feeling heavy and sluggish. One step, then another, until she couldn't move anymore and she was on her knees, trying to drag herself forward. The darkness moved and she reached out, grasping it in her hands. It was real. It was velvet. Pure, inky black velvet. A robe. His robe.

She looked up. Lucius Malfoy's face was bright against the darkness.

_Help me._ She tried to speak but her voice wouldn't come.

He reached out his hand and she took it eagerly, rising to her feet as he pulled her against him. She gripped the sleeves of his robe tightly. Her legs had no strength. If she let go, she would fall.

"I could have saved you," he murmured, winding one hand through her hair. "But you refused me. Now it's too late."

_No, please!_

He pushed and she fell backwards. Her hands scrambled for him, but the darkness opened up beneath her and then she was falling... down... down... down...

Hermione awoke with a start in an unfamiliar room. Her body was still thrumming with remembered fear, with a rush of adrenaline that was slowly fading. She breathed. The bed beneath her was soft and real against her. It took a moment to recollect the events of the night before and they swept over her in a rush—the failed potion, Apparating to Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy treating her wounds, her melted skin in the mirror and then—"_Dormite!_"

A sleeping spell. She couldn't remember anything after that.

She leapt from the bed, her feet tangling in the covers, and fell to the floor with a hard thump. Undaunted, she scrambled to her feet, racing towards the standing mirror on the other side of the room, her heart loud in her ears.

She needed to see, was terrified that it hadn't worked, and a sinking feeling in her stomach told her it hadn't worked, that the face she'd seen in the mirror was the one she'd be cursed with for life. But she had to see, and so she almost ran headfirst into the mirror.

Perfect.

Her skin was pink and new and completely unblemished. The scars that she had grown so accustomed to were gone as if they had never been. She ran her hands over her face just to be sure. It wasn't an illusion. They were gone. Every inch of skin was clean and new.

She dropped to the floor, sobbing in relief. It was gone. Really gone. Several more minutes were spent rechecking her reflection in the mirror, ensuring that this new, perfect image hadn't just been a trick.

There was only one thing marring the happiness of her new situation. She was still at Malfoy Manor and at some point she was going to have to face Lucius Malfoy in the light of day. That was not something she was looking forward to. Last night had been far easier. She'd been in too much pain and distress to think about how much she hated him.

Well, perhaps "hate" was too strong of a word. Her feelings about Lucius Malfoy were becoming a bit more complicated.

He wasn't a good person by any means. He had been a willing follower of Voldemort. He had let her be tortured on his drawing room floor. He had _participated_ in that torture.

But he was also helping Harry to bring down many dark wizards. And he had saved her life, provided her with a safe place to stay, and saved her again when she had made a horrible mess of things.

Hermione squeaked in surprise when a House-Elf suddenly appeared beside her. The creature was holding a pink silk robe in her hands.

"Miss is to come to Master's room for lunch. New robe is for Miss."

Lunch? A clock on the wall told her it was already past noon. Not surprising that she had slept so late. She was about to protest that her own clothes were fine, when she looked down and realised she was wearing a nightdress.

"Miss' robe was damaged last night. Master told Flopsy to change Miss' clothes."

The Elf held out the robe for her to take, large eyes pleading for her to accept. She couldn't very well go out in a nightdress, so she accepted the robe.

It was beautiful. The silk was impossibly soft and smooth and the cut was flattering. The sleeves billowed out at her elbows and tapered nicely at her wrists, with bits of lace peeking from the cuffs. Hermione had never thought of herself as being particularly elegant and refined before, but she certainly felt it in this robe. Was this a... gift? No, she told herself firmly. He likely just didn't want to see her looking a mess and staining the furniture. He had complained about her Muggle clothing before and it wasn't as if she could just run home and change.

When she had finished cleaning up and fixing her hair in the bathroom, she followed the Elf down the hall. Flopsy tapped on a door and as it swung open, she stood aside for Hermione to enter.

"Exquisite."

Hermione froze in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. He was sitting in a dining chair before a small table with a copy of the Daily Prophet laid out in front of him, gazing at her over a delicate tea cup. How was it possible that she felt more exposed without her scars than with them?

This was the same room that she had been in the night before, but now, without having her injuries to distract her, she could see that this was his private sitting room. The furnishings were much more masculine in style than the other rooms, all dark wood and leather with brass accents. The table Lucius sat at, which she noted had not been there the night before, was elegantly set with places for two—crystal goblets, silver-rimmed plates with matching silverware, and monogrammed napkins. This was certainly a far cry from the lunches she'd had at the Weasleys.

"Come here." He crooked a finger at her. "Let me see." When she hesitated, he gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh come now, Miss Granger. After all I've done for you."

He stood, rising gracefully from his chair and sweeping his robe from his legs. "Here. Now."

She took quick, determined steps across the room, stopping a comfortable distance from him. "I think it's much—" Her voice died as he closed the gap, and she felt his hands deftly tucking wild curls behind her ears. And then his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up towards him until she was forced to make eye contact. Clear, pale grey, almost like she could see right through them. No, that wasn't quite right. More like a mirror, giving the illusion of depth while merely reflecting back the world and giving nothing away.

"Hmmm." She could feel his breath, whispering over her cheek, the heat from his body and the soft feel of his silken robe brushing her skin. _Too close._ Her left foot took an automatic step back, then stopped abruptly when she felt his fingers digging into her chin. "Be still," he ordered, as if he didn't notice her discomfort in the least. He continued to examine her skin, eyes raking over every inch of her face, while his thumb followed suit, sliding over the smooth, unblemished surface. She was trembling. He had to notice it. How could he not hear the way her heart was hammering in her chest? "Perfect," he whispered finally.

He moved back just a step, his hands sliding down to hold hers and bring them up closer so that he could examine them. "I hope you're pleased with the result?"

"Yes, very." She nodded as if to assure him. He was still watching her, waiting for something. "Thank you. I know you think I'm ungrateful. I'm not. You saved me." She chewed her lip, trying to get the next word out. "Again. So thank you."

"Your gratitude is appreciated."

"And," she continued, forcing herself to go on before she could reconsider, "I will support your return at the Ministry."

That got his attention. She watched as his eyes widened in unfeigned surprise.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? It's only fair," she explained.

"Of course," he agreed, with a smile creeping over his lips that turned her stomach in knots. "Your sense of fair play is admirable, Miss Granger. I was beginning to think saving Gryffindors was a thankless effort."

He led her towards the opposite seat at the table, only releasing her hand when she had sat down. And as she did so, the table was magically filled with an artfully prepared meal. There was herbed tilapia on fresh greens on her plate, a basket of baked rolls in the center of the table, and a small silver plate of assorted pastries.

She was too nervous to eat. Normally, herbed tilapia was one of her favourites, but she didn't think she could stand it at the moment. She folded her hands in her lap, but looked up when she heard Lucius tap his fingers sharply on the table. "Eat," he said, in that same tone that told her it was an order, not a suggestion. Almost as if he'd be insulted if she refused. She grabbed a roll from the basket and nibbled on it to placate him.

Why did he want to eat with her anyway? Wasn't this against his pure-blood rules?

She was sure she must have covered that section in his _Wizarding Heritage _book. No socialising with Muggle-borns. Likely to infect you. Maybe even turn you into a Hippogriff. Or maybe... maybe this was his way of showing that he no longer held that prejudice. Maybe there was just a shred of truth to what he was saying. Despite herself, a tiny smile was tugging at her lips.

"Whatever do you find so amusing, Miss Granger?"

Her eyes shot upward, and she suddenly felt very silly under his sharp gaze. "Nothing," she murmured, shaking her head. "When do I go back?"

"Do you miss your little house already? Potter will be coming to check on you. I thought you might prefer to wait here for him."

_With you?_

She didn't voice that thought. She didn't like where it was leading her. And what did he mean by _her_ little house? She watched him with covert glances. He was slicing into his food with graceful precision, his table manners immaculate, as expected. Ever the well-bred lord of the manor. As if he wasn't bothered at all that a Muggle-born girl was sitting across from him. Was she really the only one unable to get over this?

Her eyes caught sight of the newspaper he had been reading, lying discarded on the edge of the table. And clear on the page was a large photo of Charlie Weasley.

"Is that...?"

He followed her gaze, glancing at the paper with derision. "That has your hand in it, I've no doubt."

She reached out and pulled the paper closer to her. There was an article with the heading, "Ministry of Magic passes Werewolf Protection Act," and below that a picture of Charlie Weasley and a woman next to him posing with Kingsley Shacklebolt. The caption read, "Charles Weasley, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Researcher, Mathilda Norwood, shake hands with Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, on the successful passing of their bill for the protection of werewolves.

The Werewolf Protection Act. That was her bill. The one she had worked on all summer with Charlie. The one she had sworn she had to have passed in memory of Remus Lupin. He knew how important it was to her.

Why was he giving credit for her bill to another researcher?

"It seems the world moves on without us," Lucius said.

"This is my bill," she said quietly.

"Was it really?"

"He didn't wait for me." He didn't have to wait for her, she knew. It was his department. She was just a researcher and werewolves were long overdue for some protection from the Ministry. Even she had urged Charlie to put it before Shacklebolt as soon as possible. Of course, that was all before she had left work. She'd just assumed he'd wait for her before trying to get it passed.

"And now he's taken credit for your work? Unfortunate, but not surprising. He is a Weasley, after all."

"No, Charlie wouldn't do that..." But she didn't know how else to explain it. There it was in black and white. He had passed her bill and not given her credit for it. And worse, he had credited some other researcher instead. "It's because I've been away so long. I need to get back."

"Don't lose sight of your priorities, Miss Granger. Your life is more important than whomever gets credit for this bill."

More important? She wasn't going to have a life if she didn't get back to work soon. "I need to talk to Harry. I need to get out of here."

His eyes narrowed at that.

"I'm not planning on risking myself," she insisted. "But I can't just—just let my life disintegrate while I sit here and r..." She caught herself, but he'd already seen on her face what she'd been about to say.

"Like I do, you mean?"

"That isn't what I meant, at all."

"How aptly put. I suppose I do _sit here and rot_," he mused, finishing her unspoken word. He looked around the room, gesturing at the air. "What else does one do when trapped here with nothing but memories?" There was a sharp note of bitterness in his words and his eyes fixated on some indistinct point in the room. "We're all rotting in here—bickering and sniping and blaming each other. Sometimes I think Potter must have planned this."

"Harry wouldn't—"

He looked up, steel grey eyes piercing. "Don't deny that you wanted me to suffer, Miss Granger. As I recall, you didn't think my punishment was quite enough."

She still didn't think it was enough, not for all the things he'd done. But she hadn't wanted to destroy his family from within. That sort of revenge seemed ignoble and petty.

He sat back in his chair, glaring at her from across the table. "She blames me." His jaw was working beneath the pale skin. "For what happened to him."

She didn't need to ask who he meant. The way he said it, she knew immediately. "What happened to—" She shut her mouth before she could utter his name. Lucius' gaze could have torn her to shreds.

There was a knock at the door and Hermione turned just in time to see Flopsy in the doorway before she vanished.

"Mr Potter is here," Lucius said. He rose from the chair, all stiff, aristocratic elegance once again.

He waited for her to rise and lead her down the stairs, ushering her before him with a hand to the small of her back. They entered the study, where Harry was already waiting. His face broke into a wide grin when he saw her.

She moved to run towards him, but Lucius' hand at her elbow stopped her.

"No, Miss Granger, you'll wait your turn. Mr Potter and I have business first."

She watched as he immediately handed over his wand to Harry. This was a routine for them, she realised, as Harry performed Priori Incantatem on the wand, checking all the spells Lucius had cast in the last week. Lucius looked down his nose from his superior height, obviously unhappy with the situation.

"A sleeping spell?" Harry asked.

"For Miss Granger. It was necessary to keep her from troubling the wounds on her face while they healed."

Harry looked towards her and she nodded her affirmation. "OK." He handed back Lucius' wand, which the wizard pocketed quickly.

And then Hermione ran forward and wrapped herself in Harry's arms. He released her just enough so he could look at her face. "You look great." He looked over her shoulder at the blond wizard standing behind her. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Lucius dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. "As you can see Potter, I'm a wizard of my word. Miss Granger is in perfect health. Now I believe we should put her back where she belongs. For her safety, of course."

"But Harry just—"

"Mr Potter has work to attend to, does he not?"

She looked up at Harry, but his face confirmed Lucius' words. He had lost weight, she realised. His cheeks were covered in stubble and his green eyes were not as brilliant and lively as she remembered. Still, he gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her arm. "It's alright. I'll see you soon, anyway."

"Take care of yourself, Harry. Please." She hoped he would listen. She knew he wouldn't. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away. Lucius stood behind her with a hand outstretched.

"Come, Miss Granger."

The memory of a dream pricked at her mind, but she shook it away. She took his hand and Lucius pulled her to him. She felt his arm slip around her waist a second before they Disapparated.

And then they were back in the parlour room of the Sanctum house. Hermione moved to step away, but he was still holding her.

"Mr Malfoy?"

"Cruciatus," he whispered in her ear.

"What?" She felt his fingers dig into her waist painfully and she gasped.

"The Dark Lord had me use the Cruciatus curse on him as punishment. So you see, Miss Granger, you were not the only one who suffered."

He stepped back.

"I'm—"

He was gone before she could finish the word.


	16. Politics

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 16 – Politics**

**.**

_Ron will like it_, Hermione thought as she pulled her new pink robe from the armoire. It really was the nicest thing she owned now, and she wanted to look her best. She even applied a bit of make up and carefully twirled her hair into neat curls so it wouldn't frizz.

She had been so focused on the events of the last few days, that she had almost forgotten Harry had promised to take her to the Burrow. Four days of isolation had left her with nothing to do but think. She had tried to indulge herself with the books from Lucius's library, but his parting words weighed heavily on her. She tried to put him from her mind now and focus on the day ahead.

At one o' clock, she heard the tell-tale pop of Apparation from downstairs. She emerged from her room to find Draco standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Potter sent me to get you," he said. There was an odd tension to his words. She wanted to ask why, but he was holding out his hand and there was a sense of urgency that told her he wanted to return immediately. So she took his hand and they Disapparated.

They arrived at Malfoy Manor in the long hallway off the foyer. As Hermione steadied herself, her ears picked up the nearby sound of two people arguing. She could hear Lucius' deep voice, carefully controlled but with that sharp and low quality that it took on when he was angry, and Harry's, frustrated and insistent. She looked to Draco, but he just shrugged helplessly, and together they followed the sounds to the open door of the study.

Lucius was pacing the room like a caged animal, his white hands clenched into fists. Harry stood opposite him, arms crossed defensively.

"Hermione!" Harry brushed past Lucius when he saw her. She could see the fury in the elder Malfoy's eyes as he caught sight of her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, not daring to break Lucius' gaze.

"Nothing!" Harry insisted.

"Why don't you tell her, Potter? I thought all you Gryffindors were so fond of honesty."

Harry threw an angry glance behind him, but the damage was already done.

"Tell me what?" she asked. She could see the strain on his face.

"Malfoy just doesn't think you should go." He grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away.

"The gwyllgi has your scent," Lucius said. "Once you are outside the protective wards of the Manor, it will find you. And once it does, it will call it's master. Potter, don't do this."

"I can protect her!" Harry snapped back.

"Because you're so good at that, aren't you?" Lucius sneered.

Hermione glanced quickly from Harry to Lucius. Harry's hand had gone to the inside pocket of his cloak—reaching for his wand, she knew—but he didn't draw it.

"You won't be in danger," Harry assured her. "I've warded the Burrow myself. It's safe."

"Wards set by an amateur," Lucius scoffed. "A child could break through those."

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Miss Granger, you leave this house at your own risk. I have kept you safe under my protection. I cannot guarantee your safety outside these walls."

"Harry, maybe we shouldn't..." But she looked at Harry's face, exhaustion and determination etched on his features, and her heart went out to him. She trusted Harry with her life. She always would. She gave him an affirmative nod.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Lucius as they walked out the door. He was glaring at her with an intensity that could melt ice.

* * *

Ginny Weasley's talents were wasted as a Seeker, Hermione thought as the girl barrelled her over in her enthusiasm. Clearly, she would have made a far better Beater. They fell to the ground laughing, while Mrs Weasley barked at her daughter to act like a young lady for once. She didn't ask how Ginny had managed to be here when she should have been at Hogwart's. Growing up with brothers like Fred and George, getting out of where you didn't want to be was practically a trade secret for Ginny.

When Mrs Weasley kissed her cheeks and told her she was so proud of her for healing herself, she realised Harry hadn't told them anything.

Well, if he hadn't, then neither would she.

Finally, she stood in front of Ron. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her robe, and she bit her lip, trying, but completely unable to keep the eager grin from her face. Ron looked her over, his lips twitching in a strange half-smile and said, "Happy birthday." He rubbed his neck nervously.

Ginny saved her from that awkward moment by pulling her away to deliver the latest gossip. She was glad for Ginny's company. The Weasley girl was the closest thing she had to a sister and she could confide things to her that she could never share with Harry or Ron.

But she wanted to catch a moment with Ron alone, to hear him tell her how beautiful she was now, that he'd missed her these last few weeks, that he wanted to be with her. She _needed_ to hear it. But every time it seemed that they might manage just a minute, he always seemed to find something else he had to do.

After a few hours, she came to realise that Ron was avoiding being alone with her.

Harry had disappeared, almost from the moment they walked through the door. She had hoped that he would give her more information on her case, but he'd been so cryptic when she asked, she'd given up on trying to get anything out of him. She asked Ginny where he was finally, when both boys had managed to make themselves conspicuously absent.

"Sleeping," Ginny said. "As soon as you came in, Harry went straight up to Ron's bedroom and went to sleep."

"Is it that bad?"

"Oh Hermione, I'm so worried about him. I haven't seen him since I left for Hogwart's and he's so much worse now. He doesn't owl me anymore. I know he's busy, but I wish he'd say something. At least so I know he's OK. I only hear about it from Ron, you know. He still talks to him sometimes."

"But what is it? What is he doing that has him like this?"

Ginny's voice dropped to a whisper. "They go on raids, Hermione. It's not supposed to be public, so you can't tell anyone. But Ron says they've been raiding wizard covens and tracking down Dark Artefacts. And, of course, everybody wants Harry Potter with them because he killed You-Know-Who so he must be able to handle Dark Magic. And Harry never refuses, you know."

She nodded. After what had happened with Wilkes, he was probably wary of letting anyone take risks. He would rather take them himself than be responsible for someone else being injured or killed.

"I don't even know what he's into, so I can't help him. It's just so _frustrating._ He doesn't want to talk to anyone. Even Ron has a hard time getting it out of him. Everything's _confidential_." She said the word like she'd heard it one too many times. "I've told him not to take everything so personally. The wizarding world had its problems long before he came along. He can't expect to fix them all. I know some of our ways are archaic, but it's going to take time to change it."

When Ginny excused herself for a moment, she decided to check in on Harry. She walked up the stairs to Ron's bedroom, quietly opening the door to peek inside. There he was, exactly as Ginny had said. Sleeping. She walked softly across the floor and knelt beside the bed. Harry's face was against the pillow, his black hair grown long and unkempt. He'd been so tired, he hadn't even bothered to remove his glasses and they were pressed into his face, making tiny indents in his skin. Gently, she slid them off, taking care not to wake him, and placed them neatly on the bedside table.

And then she saw it, sitting nearby. A stone basin with delicate wisps of shining light swirling inside. She had never actually seen one, but, of course, she had read about them. A pensieve. They were incredibly difficult to acquire. It was Harry's, she knew—Ron certainly wouldn't have one—although she wondered why he had brought it. She had heard of wizards using them to unburden their mind or to go back and revisit a memory to find information they may have missed at the time.

A pensieve was like a diary. It was intensely personal. She shouldn't touch it without his permission. But...

She placed her hands gingerly on the sides of the pensieve. Harry wasn't ever going to ask for help, she decided. She couldn't help him unless she knew what was troubling him. And so she looked inside.

For a moment she was falling through endless swirling mists. And then she was suddenly standing in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Robed Aurors were moving about, murmuring, but she couldn't quite hear what they were saying. It was as if her ears had been stuffed with cotton. She started when Harry suddenly entered her field of vision, walking right past her as if she wasn't there. And she wasn't, she reminded herself. This was Harry's memory. She didn't exist here. She followed him through an open door, glancing quickly at the name on the plaque before she entered. _Marcus Crowley_,_ Assistant Head, Magical Law Enforcement._

Harry shut the door behind him, and she automatically scooted out of the way, as if it would have hit her. Crowley was sitting behind his desk, writing something she couldn't read on a piece of parchment. He was just as she remembered him from Malfoy's party; a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man with lightly curled brown hair. As he looked up at Harry, she could see intense blue eyes staring through her. He set down his quill and sat back in his chair, an easy confidence in his movements.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Harry asked.

"I wanted to know what progress you'd made on the Muggle-born killer."

"I'm sorry. The leads we had just haven't turned up anything."

Crowley sighed, shaking his head. "Look Potter, let me be frank. We need to arrest _someone_ for this and, at this point, I don't really care who it is. That girl's murder made the front page of the Prophet. And we haven't been able to say a damn thing about it. We look like a bunch of blundering idiots who can't keep the public safe."

"I know, Sir, I'm sorry. I'm doing everything I can—"

"Kingsley has been breathing down my neck over this. He was an Auror. He was only elected because people thought he could restore order, but if he can't even manage that... well, I don't think the Wizengamot is very happy with him, which means he's not very happy with me. "

"He just wants justice. He's as invested in this as we are."

"This is about politics, Potter, not justice. The public doesn't care about who did this. They just need to see someone brought in for it. Pin it on one of those Death Eater cronies you round up from the raids. Anyone would believe that."

Harry looked sceptical. "Right, Sir."

"Hasn't Malfoy given you anything else? Don't look so shocked, Potter. I know he feeds you information. It's all well and good, so long as he knows he's never getting back into the Ministry. We don't need his kind around making trouble."

"No, he hasn't. Nothing more than what he gave us in the beginning."

Crowley seemed to mull over that for a minute. "And your friend, Granger? What happened to her?"

"She's safe," Harry said curtly.

"Wherever did you find a place to hide her?"

"I knew somewhere."

Crowley seemed to be waiting for more, but Harry was silent.

"Well, if you find another body, Potter, you'd best make sure it doesn't end up on the front page."

Harry nodded and turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "What exactly should I do with it, Sir?"

Crowley shrugged. "Bury it. Hide it in a cellar. Just make sure it's out of sight until we put a stop to this."

"Yes, Sir."

The memory dissolved, the walls melting away and reforming from smooth white, to old, crumbling brick. She was in a dark corner in Knockturn Alley. A sigh to her right told her that Harry was beside her. His face was drawn, eyes downcast and tired. This was a more recent memory, she knew.

"What do you want us to do, Mr Potter?" A young Auror was standing behind them. Only then did she realise they were looking down at something. She followed their matched gaze to the cobbled flagstone beneath their feet.

A woman lay still on the ground before them, her long blonde hair spread out beneath her. Her eyes gazed sightlessly upward. She'd been beautiful once, but now her face was frozen in pain. Her throat had been slit and blood covered her robes and the blouse that had been pulled open beneath them. Something was scrawled on her chest—some kind of archaic runes, Hermione thought, but she didn't recognize them.

Harry closed his eyes, leaned back his head, and said, "Cover it up."

She pulled out of the memory, rushing through the swirling, iridescent mists as she rose to the top. And then she was suddenly on solid ground again, holding onto the table to steady herself as her legs trembled. Harry was still fast asleep. She sat down next to the bed, brushing strands of unruly hair from his face. His memories disturbed her. It was no wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her anything more. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

As she walked down the stairs, she caught sight of Ron crossing the hallway. She raced down the last few steps, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the cove under the stairs.

He was startled for a moment and tried to pull out of her grasp, but she fixed him with her best disapproval glare and he held still.

She was about to ask why he was avoiding her, when he started speaking.

"You fixed that right up, just fine," he said quickly, gesturing at her face. "Didn't need me for anything. It's not like I'm any good at that sort of thing, anyway."

"I was lucky. Just found the right book." The lie came out smoothly.

"Harry told me you're living with the Malfoys."

"That's not exactly true."

"The others don't know," he cut her off. "Harry didn't want to tell anyone else. Guess he doesn't want anyone to know you're cozying up to Lucius Malfoy."

Her face flushed with embarrassment and anger. "I am not! And he doesn't stay there with me! How could you even suggest that!"

"Never thought you'd be running to the Malfoys for protection," he said bitterly. "You forget what they did to you?"

"How can you even ask me that? Of course, I remember. You know I don't want to be there."

"Then why are you? You could have come here. We'd have taken care of you."

"Because it wasn't—we considered everything, you know. And Malfoy just happened to have—"

"Just _happened _to, did he? That's plenty convenient."

"It wasn't convenient, at all! He wasn't particularly pleased with having me there, but it was the best solution for the moment. So we all agreed—"

"Who agreed? Nobody asked _me_ what I thought!"

"I don't need to ask your permission!"

"You're supposed to ask for my _help_!" he shouted, gesturing wildly now, the way he always did when he was agitated. "You're supposed to come to me! But you and Harry go running off to get advice from Lucius-Sodding-Malfoy! What exactly does he tell you? How to kill a Muggle-born? Because I can't see anything useful coming out of that evil bastard!"

"Mr Malfoy has been helping us."

"He's a Malfoy, Hermione! He _hates_ you. He thinks you're lower than the dirt on his shoe. Whatever you think he's doing, it's not helping you."

"He _respects _me. Is that so hard to believe? He's changed. War does that to people."

"He's the next Dumbledore now, is he?"

"Of course not! But he's—"

"Are you _defending_ him?" Ron gaped at her incredulously. "Hermione, have you lost your mind? You can't be this stupid!"

She nearly hit him. She dearly wanted to. Only an amazing feat of self-control stopped her and the fact that he seemed to realise his mistake almost instantly.

He calmed down, looking contrite and embarrassed, and mumbled, "I just meant you should ask me because you're my—my—" He couldn't even find the word.

"What am I, Ron?" she asked quietly. "Tell me, please. Because I really don't know."

"You're... well... you're Hermione," he finished weakly.

She stared at him for a long moment, the moment frozen as she replayed his words in her head.

There was no relationship. It had all been in her head. Maybe he had done it to please her. Maybe he had even hoped he could love her eventually, but the reality was he didn't. He never would.

She had waited for a month to see him, had almost melted her skin stupidly trying to make herself prettier for him, and for what?

"This was a mistake," she muttered, not trusting her voice to raise any higher.

She spun so fast, she nearly tripped on her own feet trying to get away. Her mind screamed at her to run, far, far away from the Burrow and everything that reminded her of Ron. She wanted to go home, and instantly thought of the Sanctum house, then berated herself for thinking of it. Why was her life in such a mess? Her feet found their way outside, and she dropped down on the steps of the porch, leaned her head against the rail and tried to catch her breath. The cool night air was calming against her skin. She knew the line of wards Harry had drawn extended to the trees. Beyond were shadows. She didn't dare go any further.

Wouldn't it be better just to have all this over with? Let Crowley or whoever it was come for her. He was just one more in a long line of prejudiced bastards that wanted her dead.

She stood and took a few tentative steps towards the tree line.

Lucius had said the gwyllgi would have her scent, that it would find her the moment she was outside the protective wards.

Her eyes strained in the darkness, searching for something—a form, a movement. She should walk out further, challenge it on her own terms, she told herself, but her feet stayed planted firmly on the ground.

She waited.

The night breathed, a gentle sigh that rustled the leaves. Beyond that was stillness.

Her heart was beating an erratic rhythm in her chest.

She waited.

Finally, Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding. Nothing was out there. Lucius had been wrong.

"Hermione!"

She jumped, spinning around with her wand drawn only to see a small, redheaded figure emerging from the house.

"What are you doing out here?" Ginny asked. She walked quickly to her side, rubbing her arms and shivering. "Harry said you weren't supposed to go outside."

"I know, I just... " She looked away, unable to think of a convincing excuse.

"Wanted to get away for a bit?"

She nodded.

"I heard the row with Ron. I don't blame you. But we should go in. It's freezing out here."

"OK. Let's—"

It was little more than a blur, she thought afterwards. Just a rush of shadows that seemed to stream forward from the night. One moment Ginny was standing before her, and the next she was lying on the ground, her mouth opening and closing in a silent scream, her hands scrabbling to stop the liquid that was gushing from the wound in her neck.

And Hermione's world was plunged into blood and darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews would be most welcome, lovely readers. :) I truly appreciate each and every one.


	17. Breathe

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**.**

**Chapter 17 – Breathe**

**.**

Ginny was pulling at her neck, gasping for air.

And Hermione stood and stared at her in one endless surreal moment.

Her mind ceased to function. Her feet grew roots from deep seated fear that started in her center and radiated out to her limbs.

Heavy breaths were crawling along the back of her neck, carrying the stench of sulphur.

Emotions, images, jumbled words raced through her brain lightning fast and then one horrible thought made itself clear: _Ginny was dying._

Her mind snapped awake and she moved, her wand hand instinctively casting the spell she needed before she'd even had time to think of it. Light flooded the clearing, burning away the shadows into their recesses, searing her eyes until she was blinded. The gwyllgi backed away—she couldn't see it, but she could sense its heavy presence moving further from her. The light created a barrier around her and Ginny. Hermione stood in the center and as the flare dimmed and her eyes adjusted, she could see the shadow of the gwyllgi stalking the circle. She didn't want to take her eyes from it, but Ginny needed her help.

She gathered the end of her robe and pressed it tightly against Ginny's neck to staunch the flow of blood. In seconds, the fabric was soaked and fluid seeped through to her trembling fingers. How much blood could Ginny lose before it killed her? She was still making frantic gasping noises, trying to pull air into her lungs and failing. The wound needed to be sealed, but that meant dropping her light barrier, which was the only thing keeping the gwyllgi at bay.

A low growl drew her attention back to the creature stalking her circle. Her spell was fading. The light barrier she had created was shrinking without her focused attention. She needed help and looked back frantically at the house, hoping someone inside had seen the light from her spell.

Ginny's eyes fluttered lazily, her hands falling limp at her sides. And in that moment, Hermione made a frantic decision. She dropped her barrier and immediately fired off her next spell. A burning snake ripped from the end of her wand, encircling the gwyllgi with fluid grace and leaving a trail of burning light in its wake.

She didn't wait to see the effect of her attack, instead taking advantage of those precious stolen seconds to focus her attention on Ginny. "_Vulnera sanentur_," she whispered urgently, pointing her wand at the wound. The blood loss seemed to slow, though her hand was now covered in it. She wiped it quickly on her robe and tried to push down again on Ginny's neck, repeating the spell and desperately trying to keep her voice steady.

"Hermione!" Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. Harry and Ron were running from the house, their long strides crossing the yard in moments, and she caught sight of Mrs Weasley behind them, standing on the porch.

Harry's curses soared over her head, lighting up the night with red streaks that seared the air. Ron fell to his knees beside her, confusion and distress crossing his features. "Take her, take her," she urged, helping him gather Ginny's limp body in his arms. "St Mungo's," she insisted. "I've done all I can." Ron nodded, pushing to his feet and making his way back as quickly as he could.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

She spun back to see shimmering white mist explode from the end of Harry's wand. A moment later a white stag cantered around the clearing. The gwyllgi snarled, baring long fangs as steaming liquid dripped from its jaws, and then it leapt, attacking the Patronus head on. The stag reared, kicking out with its forelegs and the ensuing clash sent dazzling sparks of magic into the air in a blinding array of light. Hermione shielded her eyes for a second, and when she could see again, the Patronus had vanished.

Harry was already in motion. His wand cut the air, and ropes of light shot out, wrapping around the gwyllgi like a pliant cage that stretched and moved around it. They squeezed, pulling the creature tighter and tighter, while it fought and struggled. And when it seemed that it would almost break free, the ropes ripped through. The hound roared, a deep guttural sound of pain bursting from its jaws. It backed away, eyeing them warily. Its form seemed to be bleeding dark mists.

Hermione glanced at Harry quizzically. "Where did you learn that?"

She thought she heard him mutter, "Malfoy," but the gwyllgi was moving again and she needed to act. She cast her light barrier again, surrounding them in a glorious blaze, as Harry fired blades of light from his wand. The hound snapped and snarled, dodging Harry's spells with supernatural grace. It moved in and out of the shadows, disappearing for a moment and then reappearing behind them. She watched as it crouched down on its back legs and for one horrified moment, Hermione thought it would spring at her, but then it turned and vanished into nothingness.

Harry continued firing curses after it until he was sure it was gone. And when the night around them was still, she let her light barrier lapse and they were standing in darkness.

She felt him grasp her hand and squeeze and then the sudden pull of Apparation was tearing her from her feet, and in the next instant they were standing outside of Malfoy Manor. Before she'd even had a minute to orient herself, Harry was dragging her through the gate and up to the front door. The House-Elf let them in immediately and Harry pulled her along behind him.

"Malfoy!" His voice echoed throughout the house and it seemed more empty and daunting than ever.

And Lucius was there, stepping out into the hallway as if he had emerged from the walls. He swirled a glass of amber liquid in his hand. "Potter—" he began.

"Save it," Harry snapped.

Lucius looked at her then, taking in the blood splattered across her face, staining her robe, and she could see the realisation dawn on him. The smallest hint of colour seemed to touch his face. "Ah. I won't patronize you, Potter, though I am sorely tempted to."

Harry glanced at her and then back to Lucius. "I can't stay. Ginny..."

"The Weasley girl was injured?" Lucius asked.

Harry didn't answer; the look on his face was proof enough.

Lucius waved a hand imperiously. "By all means, run along to Miss Weasley. I'm perfectly capable of seeing to Miss Granger."

Harry nodded and released her hand. He turned to go.

"And Potter," Lucius said, "what we discussed before. I assume you've reconsidered?"

He stopped and sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped beneath his robe. "What do you want to hear, Malfoy? That you were right? I brought her back here, didn't I?" And then the heels of his shoes echoed through the hallway and he was gone. His absence was an empty hole inside her.

Faintly, she heard Lucius murmur, "Yes, you did." A rustle of robes brought her attention to him. He was moving, circling her with slow deliberation. And then he stood before her, a strange look in his pale eyes as he examined her up and down.

"You must explain to me, Miss Granger," Lucius said, and took a long drink of the amber liquid, "why someone of your supposed intelligence insists on making such stupid decisions." He dropped the empty glass unceremoniously on a nearby hall table.

"Did I not say this would happen?" She flinched at the clipped, harsh tone in his words. "I have warned you again and again and yet you _persist_ in going against me with such astounding stupidity I often wonder that anyone considered _you_ intelligent. What is that utter arrogance that all you Gryffindors seem to have? Do you never bother to think about the consequences of your actions? Or do you merely not care who suffers for them?"

She shook her head quickly.

"And now Miss Weasley pays for your stupidity. You'll be lucky if she's not dead—"

"I know—" Her voice cracked, broke, and came out like a cry that was far too loud to her ears, but it stopped his tirade in an instant. She was still shaking with adrenaline, the rush of a fight that hadn't quite left her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself before continuing. "I know it was my fault. If Ginny dies, I'll never forgive myself. Isn't that enough for you?"

"It may be."

She knew the hurt was plain on her face, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his lips, malicious and condescending. He was enjoying this, she realised, like a parasite that fed on pain. That realisation should have been enough to force her to mask her feelings, but instead it seemed to pull them from her even more.

And then he held out his hand. His palm was hot against her skin as she took it.

When they were again in the parlour room of the Sanctum house, she pulled herself from his grasp and turned away.

She expected Lucius to go, but he snapped his fingers and summoned the House-Elf instead. "Tea for Miss Granger. Firewhiskey for me."

She wanted him to leave. She wanted to be alone. Now in the quiet stillness of the house, its familiar walls more a comfort than the imposing grandeur of Malfoy Manor, the full weight of reality had settled on her. Ginny's wound had been serious. By the time Ron had arrived, her hands had been limp, her body nearly lifeless. Her mind replayed those flashing moments – only seconds, less, but enough time to change her entire world. Blood gushing from the wound, Ginny's pale hands grabbing at her throat, the utter horror and confusion in her eyes as she tried to grasp what had happened. And she remembered how she had just stood there, unable to move while her friend lay dying on the ground before her.

Her knees were shaking and she gripped the armrest of the sofa to steady herself, breath choked in her chest. She was like a dam about to burst, tears sneaking past her defences and beginning to slide down her cheeks. She brushed them away angrily with the back of her hand.

A delicate white handkerchief was dangling in front of her. _LM. _The initials were embroidered neatly on the edge in silver thread.

She shook her head in frustration and turned away. "Why won't you leave me alone?" She meant it to sound strong, but her voice was a plaintive whisper.

The back of his hand grazed her shoulder, feather light, and she felt it trail down her back. His voice was tense and bitter when he answered. "Because I can't."

She turned slowly and the distance between them was barely a hands width. He held out the handkerchief again and she grabbed it, thankful for something to distract her from this awkward moment. She wiped at her eyes, her cheeks, and the white fabric came away with streaks of red.

She heard a strange sound – breathy, quiet laughter — before the handkerchief was plucked from her hand. He drew it across her face in smooth, even strokes, his fingertips trailing after it, over her cheeks, down her chin, and then lingering on her lips. She saw the way his eyes darkened from arctic grey to steel, but despite the furious workings of her mind, she just couldn't seem to process it. His hand had slipped behind her neck and she felt it tangle in the curls at the nape. And then his breath, hot on her face as he murmured, "Don't move."

She had a moment to gasp, to protest with her eyes if not her voice, and then that fleeting thought was eclipsed when his mouth claimed hers, stealing the air from her lungs. She was stunned for a moment, heart fluttering wildly, and then her mind was screaming _No! _and she tried to move, to back away, and found herself held fast in his grip. His kiss turned hard and bruising, and she felt his tongue prying at her lips, while his fingers curled around her chin to hold her in place. Her hands had been trapped against him when he grabbed her and she pushed them against his chest now, trying to create distance.

She mewled against his mouth, squirming in his grasp and she felt his hand wrap itself in her hair and pull back so hard it was being ripped from her scalp. The angle forced her lips apart and Lucius' tongue swept into her mouth, probing and dancing, and the smell of him, the taste of his mouth with that faint, sharp flavour of firewhiskey, filled her senses and overwhelmed them. Every attempted breath seemed to draw him further in, every protest seemed to incite him.

Her feet stumbled backwards, but he was on her in a moment, driving her back until she hit the wall hard, knocking the air from her lungs, and she found herself pinned between them. His knee was pushing between her legs and her eyes went wide, panic causing her heart to pound madly in her chest, threatening to burst from her mouth. She couldn't move, she couldn't make him stop, and she couldn't _breathe_.

Frantically, she squirmed against him, kicking out with her legs, trying to step on his foot. She succeeded in scraping his shin and then slammed the heel of her shoe down on his instep. He flinched and growled against her mouth and then he pulled back for the briefest instant. It gave her just enough room to drive her elbow up between them and push her arm against his throat to hold him back. She thought she had the upper hand for a second, but he pushed his body into hers, pressing her against wall. She fumbled with her free hand for a moment before managing to slide it down into her pocket and the moment she felt her fingers close around the smooth piece of wood, she whispered, "_Impedimenta,"_ and he was flying back across the room. She heard the impact as he hit the fireplace and fell heavily to the floor.

The room was silent except for her shaking breaths. And then she heard Lucius groan, moving sluggishly as he tried to rise, a curtain of white-blond hair hiding his face.

Her back was to the wall and she didn't move, but her wand hand was steady as she raised it, keeping it pointed at him. She was trembling—no, shaking, she admitted to herself, but he didn't need to know that.

He looked up, and she caught a flash of fire beneath the icy mask of calm. Rising slowly, carefully, he braced himself against the marble fireplace. She caught the small, pained movements as he straightened. Her spell hadn't been that strong, but hitting the fireplace like that had to hurt.

Lucius shook his head, one hand pushing loose strands of hair from his face. There was a small spot of red growing on the side of his head when he must have struck the sharp edge of the mantle, and she winced silently.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I only wanted—" She swallowed hard. "You were hurting me."

He looked her over and there was so much intensity in that gaze, she wanted to run from the room. He was seething, with those tense, short movements that indicated careful restraint. She bristled with indignation. What right did he have to feel offended? She'd only been protecting herself.

"Forgive me if I've misinterpreted you. You seemed happy enough to accept my gifts and my assistance when it suited you."

"I've never—" she began indignantly, and then she stopped and looked down at the fine silk robe she was wearing, and his meaning dawned on her. "I didn't realise. I never meant for you to think..."

He sneered at her. "Of course, _you _wouldn't."

"You—you're _married._ How can you..."

He threw her a scathing look of derision that caused her face to flush crimson. "Don't be naive, Hermione."

"I'm with... with Ron." But she knew it wasn't true even as the words left her lips.

Sharp, mocking laughter made her flinch. "Are you now? I'd be surprised to find he still wanted you—indeed, if he ever did—after what you did to his sister."

Something cold twisted inside her stomach. She should have been familiar with cruel taunts from a Malfoy after years of going to school with his son, but somehow Lucius' words always seemed to cut deeper.

He took a step forward, his voice quiet and steady in the stillness of the room. "You were never what he wanted. You can never be what he wants."

She gripped her wand tighter, and he must have caught the subtle movement, because he stopped and held his hands up.

"I won't harm you," he promised.

He continued walking, palms facing upwards at his sides. As if he could ever be truly harmless. Holding a wand had always made her feel more powerful, but now she realised how naive that was. She stepped quickly to the side, putting the sofa squarely between them. Irritation narrowed his eyes.

"Come now, Hermione, stop hiding behind the furniture. It's childish."

"I am not childish!" she snapped back. "Stop right there or I'll—" Her wand was suddenly flying from her grasp and the next moment Lucius was holding it loosely in his left hand. His right hand was in the folds of his robe with his own wand likely hidden beneath. She'd been too distracted to see him reach for it.

"For my own protection, you understand," he said, a mocking smile on his lips. "You've already cursed me once."

She stared at her empty hand in open shock, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

Lucius was examining her wand with interest. "Vine wood, is it?" He bent the tip with his fingers. "Pliable," he mused. "What is the core?"

"Give it back." Her voice was shaking.

"The core?" Lucius insisted.

She bit her lip and took a short breath. "Dragon heartstring."

"Ah." He looked thoughtful.

"My wand!"

Lucius smiled, then crooked a finger at her. She didn't move, simply glared at him from behind the sofa, while he casually continued to examine her wand. And, then, slowly, she crossed the room until she stood in front of him.

He held the wand to the side, out of her reach, deliberately forcing her to stand and listen to him. "I do apologise, Hermione, for _hurting_ you." He emphasized the word, as if telling her what he wasn't apologising for.

She nodded in acknowledgement. It was as much as she could hope for from him. It hadn't escaped her notice that he had begun using her given name, rolling the syllables over his tongue as if enjoying the sound of it. But she wasn't about to argue with him while he still had her wand. "Why?"

Lucius cocked his head to the side as if the question were silly and irritating. "You must know that I find you attractive. I confess I thought the feeling was mutual."

"It wasn't—_isn't_," she insisted.

"As you say." He shrugged elegantly.

She made a quick grab for her wand, and he held it up, over his head and out of her reach. She stumbled, catching herself awkwardly before she fell to her knees and feeling even more foolish than before. A small cry of exasperation escaped her. He was still standing there, looking down at her coolly from his superior height, and she understood what he wanted.

"Please, Mr Malfoy, may I have it back?"

He seemed to consider her request, licking his lips thoughtfully, and then he took her hand, thumb stroking her palm, and placed her wand gently in the center. Her fingers closed over it immediately, exalting in the familiar feel of the wood against her skin. She jumped when his fingers closed around her chin and tilted her face up to him.

"We'll consider this... repayment. For your scars." She caught his implied meaning as he tapped a finger against her lips. She wasn't to speak of it to Harry.

"Repayment?" Her brows furrowed in confusion. "But I thought—"

"You made an offer," he said, as if explaining the situation to a child, "but I don't recall accepting. Not to offend, but it wasn't a particularly enticing offer." His lips pursed in mock disappointment. "I believe I'm entitled to choose my price."

For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her again, but he stopped short, lips hovering a few centimeters from her own. He didn't whisper so much as breathe against her mouth. His voice was soft and mellifluous to her ears, and she kept silent, not trusting herself to speak, not daring to break the fragile tension between them.

When he was gone, and the room was silent and empty once again, his last words continued to echo in her mind.

"I wonder, Hermione, if you'll ever think of Ronald Weasley kissing you again after that."

* * *

**A/N:** I would be very very grateful for some reviews. :)


	18. Weakness

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

**A/N:** I was completely blown away by the reviews for the last chapter. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. :) Sorry this one is late.

**.**

**Chapter 18 – Weakness**

**.**

There was a sick feeling in her stomach that wouldn't go away, like someone had cast a slug vomiting jinx on her but the slugs wouldn't come out. Instead, they nestled inside her, twisting and slithering and crawling over each over. Hermione rolled over in her bed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She'd lain there for hours, mentally and physically exhausted, but sleep refused to take her. Her mind raced, going over and over the last several hours in an attempt to make sense of everything and failing miserably.

Harry hadn't come back for her. She had waited impatiently, sure that he would return to tell her Ginny's condition. Hours had passed, long and empty and torturous, but Harry never returned. Had Ron made it to St Mungo's in time? Was Ginny recovering from her injuries? Cruelly, the more negative part of her mind insisted that Ginny had died and Harry resented her for it. He was never coming back.

And then there was the part that she tried not to think about. Her stomach twisted and she buried her face further into the pillow. Even now, she found herself wondering how it had happened, how she had ever allowed him to get that close, to break down that barrier of anger and resentment that she'd worn like armour.

The problem was that she didn't object to his presence the way she had before. In fact, she had almost grown accustomed to it. It wasn't odd to think of Lucius Malfoy intruding on her life, having a say in decisions about what she would or would not do. Because she had stopped objecting to his presence long ago. She had long since grown accustomed to his voice, his presence, his touch, so that her mind did not scream its protest when he came near, so that the things he said seemed reasonable to her, so that he fit neatly into her life.

"_You must know that I find you attractive."_ Said so casually as if it had been nothing to him. She had been flattered, she admitted, shame burning in her chest, that a man like Lucius Malfoy, with his blood prejudices, his arrogant demeanour, and elegant, beautiful wife would ever really look at her, plain, bookish, and with those repulsive scars, and see something he wanted. It was a petty triumph, a confirmation that she was good enough even for him.

She wasn't stupid. She'd noticed the way he looked at her. But she'd thought that her Muggle heritage had been a sort of protection against him, that he would never cross that line. She'd seen the way he'd flinched when she touched him, the way he always spoke to her as if she were beneath him—a stupid Muggle lost in the wizarding world. His claims of reform had largely been lip service, she knew, said to pacify the new ideals of the Ministry and the current political climate.

But somehow, they'd gotten beyond that. And that scared her.

He scared her. He always had. He knew it and that was worse.

She cursed herself silently. He hadn't needed to draw his wand against her because he knew she wouldn't attack him, not really. Duelling had never been one of her strengths—she was too cautious, spent too much time thinking and calculating risks—and she definitely didn't want to challenge Lucius. That was one battle she knew she'd lose.

Restless, she rose from the bed, smoothing out the skirt of her blue robe that had been crushed beneath her while she lay down. She had long since changed back into one of her own robes, the exquisite pink robe that Lucius had given her having been thrown into the fireplace of the parlour room.

Her feet began moving, her body echoing the agitation of her mind. She wandered aimlessly throughout the house, through the kitchen, where she heard the rustle of movement—somewhere Tully was settling down for the night, through the dining room where she occasionally took the meals the House Elf prepared, the library filled with hundreds of rare and antique books, the parlour with its beautifully ornate furniture—her eyes drawn to the fire burning in the hearth, and finally the potion's room where she had managed to botch her healing spell. In and out, she wandered through each room again and again, her hands trailing along the spines of books, along the polished wood of the chairs. Maybe Harry would never return and she would become a spirit that walked this house, an echo of the woman who'd lived here once for a short time. A Muggle-born witch haunting Lucius Malfoy's pureblood sanctuary. In a twisted sort of way, it seemed entirely appropriate.

* * *

A sound startled her awake. Hermione lifted her head from the sofa she'd fallen asleep in, her eyes darting around the room to find the source. On the table nearby was a tray with a porcelain teapot decorated with gold-traced white narcissus painted on the side and two small matching teacups. In the fireplace, the remains of the pink robe were still smouldering, the embers twinkling faintly among the coals. She secured the wand in her pocket before pulling her feet up under her and immediately leapt from the sofa when she noticed a blonde figure standing behind her.

"I only came here once, you know." The tall woman stood with her back to Hermione, her silky blonde hair arranged in a complicated updo behind her head. "Not long after I married Lucius, he took me to see all of the Malfoy properties. I never cared for this one. It's far too small, too removed from civilization, though Lucius has found it useful to store some of the old, ugly things I don't care for in the Manor." She turned slowly, as if acutely aware of the elegant figure she presented. "I suppose now you've spent more time in this house than I ever did."

"Mrs Malfoy." Hermione acknowledged her visitor with a nod.

"Miss Granger." Her red painted lips curled up in a honey-sweet smile. "How lovely to see you again. I see Lucius has managed to rid you of those hideous scars you had. How fortunate for you." She didn't wait for a response, but stepped around the sofa with careful, dainty steps and gestured towards the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace. "Do sit, Miss Granger."

She sat, more out of exhaustion than to convenience Narcissa, noting that the other woman had chosen to remain standing. It was a small thing, but it was one of many small things that Narcissa did to advantage herself, and Hermione observed the witch carefully. Her green robes were covered in delicate, and obviously expensive, embroidery, the shape being cut to show off her slender figure to its best advantage. Narcissa would have been stunningly beautiful without make up, but she had painted her face with elegant expertise and added some pretty dangling emeralds to her ears. It created quite the impression of wealth and beauty.

When she finally spoke, it was not the question that she'd been expecting. "What exactly did you do to my husband last night?"

"I didn't do anything to him," Hermione snapped indignantly. She wanted to add "_that he didn't deserve_" but that would invite questions she didn't want to answer.

"Oh, I see," Narcissa said, a smug little smile on her lips. "It's not what you did to him, but what he did to you." She moved to stand against the fireplace. Ironically, the same one Hermione had thrown Lucius against the night before. "He was in quite a state when he returned last night. I'd have blamed Potter, but he's never been able to affect Lucius quite like that, so I assume it must be you."

Hermione's already strained patience was waning. "Mrs Malfoy, if you want to know what happened, I suggest you ask your husband. I'm not in the mood for this." She rose from the chair and turned to leave.

"Such poor manners," Narcissa remarked, shaking her head with feigned disappointment. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected more." She took a seat and poured herself some tea.

Hermione stopped at the door and looked back. Part of her was curious about what Narcissa would have to say to her.

The blonde witch sipped her tea daintily, peering intently over the top of the cup. "My son is in love with you. Oh, don't look so surprised. It's been obvious for years. I won't insult you by pretending I'm happy with the situation, but I am not so arrogant that I cannot see the advantages a union with you would bring him. Should you return his affections, I would not stand in your way."

Had she really just...? Instinctively, she began shaking her head.

Narcissa's eyes flashed with resentment and her teacup clinked sharply on the saucer. "The arrangement would benefit you, as well, I promise. The Malfoy name still carries a great deal of prestige and my son is a fine man. He would be good to you."

It must have pained her to say this, Hermione realised, and she was impressed by her selfless love for her son. Narcissa may not have had many good qualities, but this was her greatest. She almost felt guilty when she gave her answer.

"I don't want your son or your name. I don't want anything from you."

"Oh. Pity." Her eyes were downcast. "Lucius seems intent on having him marry the Greengrass girl. I don't think Draco would be happy with her." There was a small twitch at the side of her lips. She was relieved.

_Fine by me_, Hermione thought bitterly. _I wouldn't want you for family either._

Narcissa stood gracefully, head high and proud, but her voice was quiet. "My husband has an extraordinary talent for finding weakness." She watched Hermione carefully. "The flaws you try to keep hidden, the tiny little doubts that creep into your mind. Finding and exploiting them for his own use. He knows exactly where you're most vulnerable, exactly what to say to hurt you." She smiled again, supercilious pride on her red-painted lips, but Hermione suspected she was speaking from experience. "That's probably why he's attracted to you. You're no match for him, Miss Granger."

"I don't mean to be."

"When this is over—"

"When this is over, I won't have anything more to do with your family, Mrs Malfoy."

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?"

She met her gaze with confidence.

"Well, keep your delusions if you like. It's nothing to me. I suppose I should be going. He doesn't know that I've come here. You won't tell him, of course."

"And why not?"

She laughed, a high lilting sound that was as delicately musical as it was snidely condescending. "Oh, you poor dear. You don't even know the game you're playing, do you?"

But something about what she'd said made her think. If she'd come here without Lucius knowing, he must be distracted, which meant... "Harry is there."

There was a momentary lapse in her perfect composure, which Narcissa quickly covered up. "Oh bravo, Miss Granger. Very clever. Yes, Mr Potter is at the Manor. I understand there's been some incident involving the Weasley's youngest daughter."

She was either fishing for information or else she expected a reaction. Hermione gave her neither.

"I do hope the poor girl recovers. Please give my best wishes to the family." She stopped short. "Oh. Silly me. You can't." And then she Disapparated without another word.

Hermione sank back into the sofa, weariness seeping into her limbs. Narcissa must have felt very threatened to come here. On further thought, it didn't surprise her. The House of Black had been destroyed and, with it, any influence Narcissa might have drawn from her family. The House of Malfoy might be in disgrace now, but it was all she had.

But Hermione was bothered more by the fact that Harry had gone to the Manor and not bothered to see her or even send word of how Ginny was doing. He had to know she was sitting here, waiting anxiously for any information. Her eyes were stinging when she laid her head back down.

* * *

Three days of silence and anticipation had her on edge. Lucius would return eventually, alone or with Harry, she didn't know which, but she didn't look forward to seeing him again. She'd set wards to alert her when he finally did arrive, determined not to be taken unawares, but Tully had steadfastly dismantled them every night. Confronting the Elf had only resulted in tears, a wringing of hands, and cries of "Master says no!" and she'd been unable to convince her to stop taking down her wards.

The library was where she spent most of the days, engrossed in the books when she could convince her restless mind to concentrate. She searched fruitlessly for more information on the gwyllgi, but could find scarcely more than she already knew. Lucius would know more. He'd taught Harry some kind of spell to fight it, but somehow she doubted he'd tell her anything. Especially after that night.

The book she held now, a leather-bound tome, so carefully preserved that even the black lettering was still crisp, had proven the most valuable. She read the passage for what must have been the thousandth time, hoping there was something more she must have overlooked.

_The gwyllgi is a wild magical creature, native to Wales. Its appearance has been regarded as a portent of death. Witnesses have described it as a enormous black dog with fiery eyes, slavering jaws, and an ominous _

Ginny's face, blood spilling from her throat, appeared behind her eyes. She shook her head to clear it and continued reading.

_The gwyllgi can only appear after dark as its form is composed of Dark Magic. It has been known to attack unwary travellers on dark roads. Its body is at once tangible and intangible, resembling a ghostly apparition rather than a substantial animal. It is capable of merging its form into shadows to dodge magical attacks. As such, capturing the gwyllgi has proven difficult for even the finest Magical Creature Keepers._

"_Don't move."_ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

_Gwyllgi are vulnerable to light and fire, though given its form, there is considerable debate over whether it can be substantially or even permanently injured. Gwyllgi which had appeared to sustain injuries from magical attacks have appeared again, whole and uninjured._

Her heart leapt in her chest, the way it always did when she reached this part.

_Unseen in the magical world for the last fifty years, the gwyllgi has been assumed extinct by many Magical Creature researchers, although rumours of its appearance in the Muggle world continue. Its last confirmed sighting was recorded by Magnus Ignotus in 1896, who studied the creatures extensively and postulated that gwyllgi should be a protected magical species. To date, however, attempts to capture and preserve the gwyllgi in substantial form have been unsuccessful._

She felt his presence before she heard him. It was like a weight on her shoulders, a prickling down her spine. She'd been listening for days for that tell-tale pop of Apparition and now she she had to wonder if that deceitful little House-Elf who'd been removing her wards had also put up silencing charms.

Lucius stood in the doorway, cloak around his shoulders as if he were dressed for a proper outing, arms crossed nonchalantly over his chest. He was watching her, she realised, weighing her reaction to seeing him. She tried to refrain from any of her nervous habits that always gave her away—chewing on her lip, tucking her hair behind her ears—but somehow, she knew he'd pick up on it anyway. It was a horribly apt comparison, she thought: Lucius Malfoy could read her like a book.

"Enjoying my books, are we?" He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and laid it over a chair.

For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. Was he still angry with her? Or did they just pretend nothing had ever happened? Her fingers smoothed over the wand in her pocket—it was a comforting gesture. "I was just doing a bit of research."

He held out his hand, an unspoken request for the book she was holding. She handed it to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, and she pulled away abruptly and stepped back. The barest hint of a smile was the only acknowledgement he gave. "Gwyllgi? Your research comes a bit late."

"I was hoping to find something I'd missed. The one we fought escaped that night," she explained. "I wanted to be prepared in case it returned."

His eyes scanned the page, then flicked back up to her. "Magnus Ignotus... he didn't actually succeed, you know. But his research was invaluable to the wizard who did." That wasn't indicated in the book, of course. She wondered how Lucius had learned of it. Was it written in some book held in a private pure-blood library? Or was it passed down orally to ensure the knowledge was kept among pure-blood families?

"And who was that?" she asked.

Lucius smiled. "Don't be presumptuous, Miss Granger." He slammed the book shut and it magically replaced itself on the bookshelf.

His refusal didn't bother her; she hadn't expected him to tell her anyway.

"Would you care to see it?"

She eyed him skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. The gwyllgi."

He was deliberately being cryptic. How could she see the gwyllgi?

"Mr Potter's found it," he said finally.

Her brow furrowed. "He's found the gwyllgi? How?"

"The gwyllgi must be anchored by a magical object. It would have returned to its container when it was injured. Potter was able to retrieve it. He's bringing it back to the Manor so that I'll have a chance to examine it. I thought you might be interested."

"What about Ginny? Did he say anything about her?"

"She's alive, I'm sure of that much. Potter hasn't deigned to tell me anything about her condition. He's set Aurors by her bedside, though I doubt she's in any danger. She, after all, was not the intended target." He looked pointedly at her.

"I need to see her. And Ron. He'll be devastated."

"No." The answer was automatic.

"You can't forbid me."

Lucius shrugged. "I can't help you either. You can't leave this house and I can't leave the Manor." He said it as if it were some sort of equal punishment.

"Then ask Harry—"

"It can't be done, I said. Now let's have no more talk of Weasleys." He waved a hand at her as his brow furrowed in irritation.

"Then what did you come here for?" she snapped. "If you have nothing to tell me—"

"It seems Miss Weasley's injuries have prompted Potter to act." He paused, waiting for her reaction. "I suppose we should be grateful. He has quite the tendency to drag his feet."

"To act? What has he done?"

"He's taking a team of Aurors to investigate the Crowley house. Under the guise that all pure-blood households are being checked for Dark Magical objects. Crowley can't refuse without appearing to have something to hide."

"But what if he's already moved whatever evidence was there?"

"It doesn't matter. Potter only needs an excuse to bring him in for questioning. Once under Ministry control, a dose of veritaserum should give us enough to arrest him."

Was he implying what she thought? That Harry would plant evidence if they couldn't find anything? She didn't think that Harry would compromise his integrity like that. The Harry she knew wouldn't, but she had to admit that she knew very little about his life as an Auror, caught between Ministry politics and his own need to protect the wizarding world. And her, she reminded herself. She considered the man in front of her. Somehow, she didn't think Lucius was bothered by questions of morality.

"That's it, then?" she asked, hopeful. "Are you here to take me back?"

"Back?" he repeated incredulously. "Oh no, Potter hasn't given me permission to remove you from the safehouse. I came merely to inform you of developments. You did still wish to be informed, did you not?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"Even if it comes from me?"

She didn't answer.

"But you'd prefer it didn't."

Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Lucius sighed. "I can't help but feel a bit insulted. I have done my best to protect you and advise you. You ignore that advice to your own detriment and now blame me for it."

"That's not—"

"Or do you simply not trust yourself around me?" A mocking smile played about his lips. He reached out a hand, skimming the stray locks that twirled around her head. She slapped it away.

"Enough games," she snapped. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them at her sides.

"I beg your pardon?" He looked mildly amused.

"Stop playing with me, Malfoy! I'm not your entertainment for when you're bored with house arrest! This is my life at stake, Ginny's life, and it's just one big game to you, isn't it? I've had enough!"

"I assure you I am not playing games." He enunciated the last words with distaste. "You can't possibly understand how important this case is to me. My name, my future hangs on it. Potter would have me thrown back in Azkaban if you die and I can guarantee those Ministry bottom-feeders would ensure my accidental demise followed shortly." His eyes were bright when he looked at her. "Your _life_, Hermione, is the most important thing in the world to me right now."

Courage was failing her; she couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't want it to be."

"Neither of us wanted this, but here we are."

"I'm Muggle-born," she said.

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"I'm not stupid. I know what you think of people like me."

"And you know what I think of you."

"You keep saying that—"

"But you refuse to accept it."

She shook her head. "I can't. I won't."

He sighed. "You can't deny there's something between us."

Something. There was a word for it. There was a lot of something and none of it good. This strange relationship they had – not quite enemies, not friends, possibly something like allies, but with far too much tainted history between them to ever really be on the same side. To him she said, "What do you want from me, Malfoy?"

"Exactly what I say." There was a look in his eyes that she didn't understand.

She looked at him with disbelief.

"I apologised for hurting you," he insisted. "It was just a kiss, nothing more."

Except it wasn't just kiss. There'd been more in it than simply attraction. That kiss had been a statement. She felt her skin flush at the memory—his hands holding her in place, mouth pressed against her own. She didn't believe he'd been misled. He'd acted on his own impulses and, like a child caught red-handed, had put the blame on her rather than accept fault. That controlled aristocratic mask was slipping and now she could see that he was far more petty and cowardly than she'd realised before.

"If you ever touch me again, Lucius, I will tell Harry." She looked at him evenly. It was the first time she'd used his name and it had the desired effect. "He won't stand for it. You know he won't." Her voice was quiet, but she knew he was listening intently to every word.

He met her eyes and she caught the barest hint of a nod. He didn't like to be told no, but he wouldn't jeopardize his situation by making an enemy of Harry Potter. If there was one thing she could trust, it was that Lucius Malfoy would always act in his own best interest.

"Believe me, Miss Granger, you need not remind me what I have to lose." His voice was bitter.

She nodded, teeth worrying her lower lip despite her best efforts.

"Then we understand each other."

His lips pulled into something that wasn't a smile. "Indeed, we do."

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews please? :)


End file.
